Met His Match
by TheMatterWithMatter
Summary: Morgana Greene is ambitious, strong-willed and cunning. Tom Riddle is powerful, charming and manipulative. What will happen when two of the most powerful students at Hogwarts meet? Lots of twists and turns. COMPLETE. BEING REVAMPED.
1. Prologue

**This is being revamped, so sorry if the chapters seem a bit out of line or if the characters suddenly change personality. Updated: 27/3/2016**

**PROLOGUE**

It was a freezing cold night in the winter of 1929. In the dark streets of London, dimly lit with burning oil lamps, a worn tired woman stumbled along. Her face was not pleasing to look at – she had lank, greasy hair and mottled skin. Her stomach was large and round, and it was clear that she was heavily pregnant and with child.

The young woman slowly clambered up the stairs to a grey, old building, occasionally grunting with pain. Liquid trailed down her leg as she frantically knocked the wooden door.

"Anne, get that door!" A high screechy voice spoke from within the building. Light footsteps pattered across wooden floors, and the door swung open to reveal a young teenage girl. She had brown curls and was wearing a white, faded nightgown. In her small hand she held up a barely burning lamp. As soon as the girl saw her, she gasped and called for a Mrs. Cole.

An older woman with shoulder-length grey hair came to the door, grumbling. She looked at the sorry mother in front of her. _Another abandoned girl, poor thing_. She pulled the panting, sweating woman inside the orphanage and laid her down on a thin mattress. Mrs. Cole dabbed a wet washcloth onto the forehead of the woman in labor.

The woman, Merope, gasped for breath as an excruciating pain filled her entire body. As she used the last of her strength to push, she could feel the little life left in her body slipping away. Oh, why did her darling Tom have to leave her… Merope knew she was leaving her son in this horrible, filthy place called an orphanage, but she couldn't leave her baby in the Gaunt House. Morfin would kill the boy at first sight. At least here, he would have shelter and food that she would not be able to supply.

A distant crying noise filled her senses, and a shout of relief followed soon afterwards. She panted as the child was placed in her arms. "I hope he… looks like his… papa. Call him Tom… for his father… and Marvolo for… his grandfather… and his surname… Riddle…" The matron frowned. "Tom Marvolo Riddle? What an odd name… Miss? Are you alright? Miss!"

As the first rays of sunlight rose above the horizon, the life seeped out of a poor, frail woman. Beneath the frantic gaze of the orphanage matron and the weight of Tom Marvolo Riddle in her arms, Merope Gaunt died with a sad, knowing smile on her pale face.

A day later, in another orphanage on the outskirts of London, a wicker-woven basket was gently settled down at the top of a stone staircase. In front of the basket was a red-brick low building. The young girl who had placed the basket down twisted her hands anxiously, wondering if this was the correct thing to do.

Eventually, she nodded. A child born to unmarried, _underage_ parents was a scandal. A crime. She would never hear the end of it from her strict, no-nonsense mother. She turned away from the basket and quickly walked away from her guilt. She made the mistake of looking back once, and a tear slipped down her cheek. A dim light gleamed from behind a foggy, smudged window and the building was clearly poor. What a terrible place for her child – no, the mistake – to grow up in. For inside the basket lay a newborn child.

The young baby yawned as the light hit her eyes. She turned over in her cold blankets, struggling to find warmth. The birds chirped from a tree a few metres away, and as time passed, busy people hurried past the building, none noticing the quiet child inside. A few hours later, the wooden door opened and a young girl's voice squealed.

"Madam! Madam! A baby's here! Another orphan baby's here!" An older woman hurried to the door and carefully picked up the basket. As the young girl squealed and informed the other orphans excitedly, she sighed. "Another doorstep drop," she thought sadly. She set down the basket and picked up the baby.

In the years to come, she would come to regret ever taking the baby in.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1: Inferno**

The young girl sat on the edge of her old plain mattress, wearing a calm, blank face as she read her worn, second-hand book. Her 'bed', if you could call such a thing a bed, was inn the corner of a small, dingy room with cold, white walls. The paint was peeling off the ceiling and the floor was dirty, however, the girl sitting on the bed wore pristine clean clothes.

Black silky hair framed deep pools of blue, contrasting with her pale skin. She had a short, petite stature and strangely dexterous fingers. Her features made her seem childish and innocent, but, as they say, you should never judge a book by its cover.

Beneath the smiling, youthful face lay a cynical personality. Morgana Greene wasn't a typical young girl who loved lace and frills and dreamed of a handsome prince to take her away. No, inside her heart was a simmering pool of resentment and hatred. She loved not dresses but books; she delighted in not playing dolls but in riling up the other children; she dreamed not of a prince but of a successful future, where she could rule and lord over everyone else.

She was not one to beat around the bush either. Being polite and cordial was not something she could understand. She had lost count of the number of times she had made a schoolmate cry. Indeed, the only reason she had not been expulsed from school was because of her extraordinary mind. Teachers called her names like 'prodigious' and 'gifted', but also labeled her as 'impolite' and 'disrespectful'. The other children despised her because she was from the 'rotten orphanage' and because she was so cold towards them, but reluctantly admired her as well.

Whereas at 'home', the other orphans were frightened of her, since strange things always happened around her.

Once, when she was very young - barely 5 years old – Morgana and the other children in the orphanage had visited the public library on an excursion. It had been her very first trip outside of the confining walls of the orphanage. She had been so very excited at the time. At last, a real glimpse of the real world!

The five year old had wondered whether all adults were as susceptible or as sadistic as the ancient caretakers in the orphanage. _Surely not_, Morgana had thought to herself. _Surely the world cannot be that cruel or gullible._ Optimism had filled her with foolishness that day, and only ten minutes into the trip she had indiscreetly used her strange power. The same strange power that she used to terrify the other orphans.

Stretching out a small hand, Morgana had stared fiercely at the book on the top shelf. Within seconds, the _Adventures of Merlin_ began shaking on the shelf. It wobbled, trembling, and then shot with a terrific speed into her hand. She had crowed in triumph, unaware of the wide, scared eyes behind her.

Her classmate, Melanie Woollcott, began screaming and pointing. Morgana whirled around, all feelings of happiness gone and replaced with panic. "Miss!" the girl continued to holler, her blonde pigtails flying out as she raced across the floor. "MISS! Morgana - "

Morgana had panicked, then, and she willed with all her heart that something might happen to Melanie. No way would she get caught, no way! To her amazement and delight, the blonde girl had suddenly stumbled and tripped over her shoelaces, resulting in a sprained ankle and a river of tears. "But, what happened?" she kept hiccupping through her painful cries.

What had happened, indeed?

Melanie Woollcott had never come near her again, but Morgana did not care. She knew, in that moment, that she was special. She could bend things and make objects come flying towards her. She could make the bones in the body snap and twist in impossible angles, and she could wish illness and injury on whoever she hated. This strange power had no limits, and no one else seemed to have it. Within a month, the orphans called her 'the witch girl'.

The witch can break your bones, they would whisper. She can make bad things happen to you, if you anger her. She can twist your mind until all that's left of you is your empty soul. Stay far, far away from the evil witch.

Morgana loved the power her abilities gave her. No one dared bother her, and she could make them obey her at the mere raise of an eyebrow. They scurried to do her bidding, even the foulest bullies in the neighborhood. They had all learnt their lesson, apart from the silly new arrival, Jimmy Fillmore.

Jimmy was an older boy from downtown London, with a posh accent and a snobby attitude. He had a thin face and short legs, as well as a permanent 'I'm better than you' look plastered all over his face. He had been found sitting on the doorstep, wrapped in a thin blanket and shivering from his night out in the cold. Despite his feeble appearance, though, Fillmore was quite the posh little bugger.

"My parents are rich and we live a big mansion. Better than this rubbish dump. They'll be coming soon, and they'll punish the lot of you for hanging 'round me with your dirty clothes," he would say often. Jimmy refused to believe that his parents had left him here for good and was convinced that his residence here was temporary.

He also refused to believe in the rumors about Morgana.

"This Morgana person is just a silly little girl, that's all. She probably just makes these rumors up herself. And powers, yeah right. What does she do, pull rabbits out of a hat?" Jimmy snorted in disbelief. "I bet she couldn't hurt _me_. My dad would flog her if she even touched me, you know."

"Yeah, but you don't know what she can do," whispered Mary McMillian. She was the sweetest girl in the building and the only child who would willingly speak to Jimmy. "I heard she made Melanie break her leg in the library and laughed afterwards."

"Ha! Don't be stupid, Mary," guffawed Jimmy. "Witches don't exist, my dad told me so."

At that very moment, as Morgana was reading her book, the very boy himself was swaggering down the corridor. He stopped by Morgana's door and gave her a long, hard stare. Although the staring became uncomfortable after a minute or so, she didn't move a muscle.

"So you're Morgana Greene. The witch girl," he smirked, his lips curling over. Jimmy must have thought he looked intimidating, but Morgana thought he just looked constipated. What a fool.

Morgana's eyes remained fixated on her book. "There is no proof that I am a witch. Jumping to conclusions this early is not good for your health."

Jimmy screwed his nose up in thought. "So you aren't a witch!" he exclaimed finally. "I knew it! You're just a little girl."

She turned the page, still not looking up.

"There is also no proof that I am not a witch. For all you know, I could be capable of turning you into a toad by simply waving my hand. And, assuming I am a witch, it is also safe to assume that would not be a good idea to annoy me, _which you are currently doing right now_."

Jimmy looked down his nose at her superiorly, completely ignoring everything she had just reasoned out. "The devil girl. Honestly! You just probably made it up, you filthy little liar. You filthy, stupid, dumb liar. And look, a book! Nerd," he said in a sing-song voice, probably thinking it would rile her up. It did the exact opposite.

"Honestly, how thick does your skull have to be?" Morgana said dryly. Jimmy stopped and sneered at her, surprised. "I am clearly more intelligent than you, and that's really not saying much, seeing as a snail could outsmart you. In fact, I'm not even sure if a snail has a brain. You should go down to the meager 'library' we have in this filthy institute, and look it up – that is, assuming you can read.

"In addition to that, you just contradicted yourself. You just said that I was a, quote, filthy, stupid, dumb liar, unquote, and then proceeded to call me a nerd. Unless you are speaking another language, then I believe that you just insulted me and complimented me at the same time, while also adding the word moronic to my increasing mental list of adjectives describing you.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

She sneered, internally applauding herself. She didn't know what half the words she had just spoken actually meant, but it made her sound superior, so…

Jimmy knew enough words by now to understand that he was being insulted. He said nothing - mostly because he didn't know what to say - but inside he fumed. How dare the filthy liar talk to him like this! Morgana finally looked up and gave him a haughty smile. "Hmm, not got enough brain cells to speak?"

Jimmy bared his teeth at her angrily, furious. He didn't know what brain cells were, but he had a feeling that it was something he should have but didn't. "I can speak," he growled, having nothing else to say.

"Yes, I can see why your parents left you here," Morgana continued, and smirked as Jimmy froze. She had hit a nerve. Excellent. "After all, you are a spoilt little brat. Always asking your parents for money, new toys… Well, they got sick of that, didn't they? They got sick of you, didn't they? So they left you here, to live out the rest of your life, miserable, lonely, poor…"

Morgana was guessing, but her instincts were almost always correct. She grinned, her pearly white teeth gleaming in the dim sunlight, as the boy curled his hand into a fist. Hook, line and sinker.

"You- you stupid little girl! You don't understand anything, you liar!" Jimmy hissed, face red with rage but eyes glimmering with restrained tears. So she _was_ right. "Here's the pot calling the kettle black," she snorted, as Jimmy attempted to convince himself of his parents' love. Ha.

"My parents LOVE me! I know they do, they have to! Not like you, you liar!" The furious boy clenched his fist, and words tumbled out of his mouth without thinking.

"You're pathetic! Your parents didn't want you either! They just dumped you here on the doorstep, didn't they? I know, 'cause Mary told me! So you lie and you make people scared and you pretend you have powers when all you are is a pathetic, stupid, big fat liar!"

Her first reaction was shock, then followed by anger. No one had ever dared to talk to her like that. Ever. His words struck a chord in her and she gasped as if physically hit. _My parents…_

For ages upon ages, almost every night, Morgana Greene had dreamt of her parents. She could remember nothing of her parents' faces and knew nothing about their fates. As illogical as it was, though, she harbored a secret wish that one day, her parents would come and whisk her away to another world, far away from this wretched orphanage.

She slowly stood up from her bed, book lying abandoned on the spread. How dare he. How dare that Jimmy Fillmore even _mention_ her parents. He had tainted her image of them.

"Jimmy Fillmore," she whispered, his name slipping out her mouth, soft and sibilant. The trembling boy looked up, suddenly seeming small and pathetic in face of her rage. She stepped forwards as if in a trance. All control was lost; anger was the only thing that fueled her now.

He reared backwards as she stepped dangerously close. Morgana stared at him unflinchingly with cold blue eyes. "S-stop," stuttered Jimmy. "Please, stop… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

She didn't react to his apologies. She barely even heard them. Anger and hatred had taken over her fully by now. "Shut up," she snarled, and without warning, the room burst into flames.

The fire seemed to come from nowhere. It simply appeared, ravaging the walls within a few seconds. Screams from inside the building as the startled children were caught unawares by the raging fire. The floors grew hot as the inferno grew bigger. Flames licked the ceiling and pieces of timber fell, crushing quite a few children as they struggled to escape.

Curiously, the fire did not come near Morgana. It surrounded her with glowing flames and smoky ash, but it never touched her. Jimmy Fillmore watched in terror. "What are you doing? You're going to kill everyone! You're crazy, you're going to kill all the people here!"

His words froze her to the ground. She couldn't move as the words replayed over and over again in her mind. _You're going to kill everyone_.

That was crazy. She was crazy. She hadn't even meant for the fire to come, it just… had.

The distant screams and pleas of help grew louder. Morgana staggered backwards. This was insane. This fire wasn't a normal fire. No fire could grow so large in such a small space of time.

She released the terrified boy from her grasp (she hadn't even realized she was gripping him by the neck). "Go," she whispered. Jimmy Fillmore stared up at her in shock and terror. She glared at him. "I said, GO!"

He didn't need to be told again. The poor boy jumped up and ran from the room, screaming. Morgana stayed standing in that one spot, staring wide eyed at the damage and destruction around her. Was this all really her doing?

Desperately, she willed the fire to stop. All those orphans, no matter how irritating they were, were still innocent. They still years left to live. She wouldn't – couldn't – rob them of their lives.

But despite her best efforts, the inferno raged on. Morgana clenched her fists by her sides and doggedly willed the fire to subside. However, the flames wouldn't listen to her any longer. They would not be controlled and continued to devour the building with a beastly eagerness.

She trembled. This was all her doing. The orphanage was already half gone by now, the foundations having crumbled into ash. The screams and cries had faded away by now, replaced by the occasional whimpering moans. The unrelenting firestorm whirled around her, destroying everything she had known for seven long years until nothing was left. She couldn't stop it. What had started as a simple argument had escalated into the utter ruination of an entire community.

Morgana Greene was left standing, frozen in shock, surrounded by the cinders of her fellow orphans.


	2. Wool's Orphanage

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. *sobs hysterically***

**So, do you like it so far? Morgana seems slightly evil (okay, a lot evil) but that might change later on. Her attitude to life won't, but she won't be a Muggle-hater either. **

The authorities didn't understand it. _How could a building just go up in flames? And in the middle of winter?_ Eventually, they decided that, although very unlikely, a child must have been playing with matches and accidently thrown one into the oil lamps. As for Morgana, she was the only known survivor of the incident.

"How did you get out, missy?" A tough looking officer with a round belly asked her. His small eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Morgana allowed her lip to tremble, pitched her voice higher and widened her eyes, looking the epitome of innocent. She spoke in a wavering voice, quickly making up a realistic cover story.

"Well… I was playing outside, see, and I, I could smell the smoke… and," here, she let out a childish sob, "I could hear the screaming of J… Jimmy. He was one of my friends, see. So… so I ran from the fire, and… oh, I m-managed to get my stuff but... Mister, will I be alright?" The man's eyes had softened, and he awkwardly patted the girl on the back. "Don't worry, dearie," he said in what he must have thought was a reassuring voice. "We'll find you somewhere to stay." This was too easy, Morgana thought triumphantly. Way too easy.

The man allowed Morgana to stay at a cheap rented room for a couple of days. An old, kind lady was sent to 'take care' of Morgana. She snorted at the thought of it. She didn't need taking care of, how old did they think she was? Five? Fortunately, the old lady absolutely loved her cats, so she tended to pay more attention to Mr. Winkles than to Morgana. Then, a couple of days later, another younger lady came to Morgana. She had brown, mousy hair pulled up in a neat bun and a sharp, pointed nose. She was quite tall, and wore a neat cloak and a tidy skirt. However, her face was worn and Morgana knew it was because of the recent war bombings on London. She had heard the distant _boom_s of the bombs at night.

"Come along now, darling. Quickly now, or the evil witch will come and take you away," she said impatiently, in a high, false voice. The woman was also glancing about nervously – clearly by 'evil witch' she meant the possible raid bombing London. Morgana resisted the urge to _persuade_ the woman to walk in front of the cruising lorries on the road, choosing instead to clench her fist. She hated being talked to like a toddler, and right now she really couldn't be bothered to keep up her polite demeanor. Stupid woman. Her ego really needed to be deflated.

"First of all, I am not your _darling_," she shot back. The woman looked down her nose at the little girl in disdain and gave a faux smile. "Of course not," she said patronizingly. "Now please, little girl, hurry up –" Morgana rolled her eyes and interrupted the ignorant lady, who then proceeded to look affronted. She ignored the sneer that spread across the woman's face and continued. "Secondly, I am not three. There is a big difference between a seven year old, and a three year old, even if you are so ignorant that you cannot hope to see it. Common logic dictates that I can think for myself, and I can understand what you say, despite your belief that I am an infant who is simply your next assignment in this horrible job of yours."

"Thirdly, I am aware that there is a war going on. Clearly, you are trying to 'shield' me from the _dangerous_ world out there – but did it even occur to you that I am an orphan? I don't need shielding. I know that life isn't fair, I know that there is a very good chance that I might not make it through the night, and I know that you, miss, are an incompetent idiot. So please, do your job properly or don't do it at all."

Picking up her bag, Morgana left the gaping lady to scurry behind her through the broken streets of London, to a grey, dreary building at the very end of the dirty street. The woman scowled and strode up behind her. "I don't like your attitude, little miss," she said sternly, her 'teacher' voice still in place. "A young lady like you clearly needs to be taught _proper_ manners…" Morgana ignored the sharp words and continued walking, still scowling. She hated the way that females were treated like _property_ by men. She knew of many children in the orphanage who were simply throw-away products of a woman who had been harassed by a man.

As the still scolding woman came to a stop, Morgana halted beside her and bumped her arm, completely unrepentant about making her drop her handbag. Above the iron gates, a rusty sign read 'Wool's Orphanage'. The brick walls were crumbling and the door creaked when Morgana touched it. Looking around, she could see dirty, smudged windows and a trampled flowerbed out in front. She craned her neck up and saw a small, round face pressed against the glass windows at the top floor. The entire property smelled of old fish and a hint of sherry. It looked terrible from the outside; Morgana felt disgusted to think about what it might look inside. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty to burn down her old orphanage.

The tall woman who had accompanied her rapped on the door with her knuckles, and it swung open, revealing a thin, bony old woman.

The old lady slowly opened the door while somehow managing to scowl at Morgana the entire time. A few minutes later, after a quick muttered explanation, the brown-haired woman left. The ancient woman waved at the tall figure hurrying away and turned to Morgana. "Hello, dearie. My name is Mrs. Cole and this is Wool's Orphanage, your new home," the sour lady said in a bored voice, leading the girl out of the room. She had apparently given this speech over and over again so many times she could remember it by heart. "So, I've been told, your home burnt down or something like that, so you're stuck with us now. Get used to the building, I'll arrange a tour or whatever later."

Mrs. Cole had thinning grey hair, bony arms and a sour look on her face. Her screechy high voice was irritating and Morgana kept wishing she could silence her, like she had done with Polly Wheatfield. Polly was a chatterbox, and would not stop talking on her first day. She had originally roomed with Morgana, but that mistake had soon been, ah, fixed. Polly, like so many others, was terrified of Morgana. _Oh well,_ Morgana thought_, I'll never see her again anyway. She was burnt to death in the _tragic_ fire, remember?_

"Right, Jenny," Mrs. Cole said. Morgana glared daggers at the lady and she paused for a bit, frightened by the look in the seven-year-old girl's eyes. "Huh, Maggie. Um, since we weren't expecting you, we haven't got any extra rooms. So, err, you'll have to room with the- the Riddle boy." Morgana noticed that the old lady shivered slightly when she mentioned 'the Riddle boy'. Interesting. Very interesting.

Mrs. Cole led the petite girl down the drafty corridor, attracting many stares from the other orphans. A tough-looking scarred boy leered at her unpleasantly and a younger brunette girl stared at her with wide eyes. Several older girls sneered at her and resumed opening what looked suspiciously like a packet of cigarettes. Meanwhile, the old woman knocked on a wooden door. "…Tom?" her voice wavered as she waited outside the room.

"Go away," came the immediate response. The voice was high, but it was clearly male. Morgana could see that Mrs. Cole was conflicted between leaving 'Tom' alone and delivering Morgana to her room. Her wrinkled face was twisting into different expressions: anger, confusion and, most curiously, _fear_. Eventually, the hurricane of emotions slowed down and the old lady's face was worn and sour once more.

This Tom character was getting more interesting by the second.

"I'm sorry, Tom, but I – "

The door opened a crack, and a pale face appeared. Thin eyebrows were drawn together in an angry frown. "What part of _go away_ do you not understand?" the voice drawled. Mrs. Cole was clearly shaking now, and her bony fist was clenched, knuckles white. Morgana tilted her head in interest. The caretaker was definitely afraid of whoever was behind that door, and it seemed he could manipulate people as well as she. Curious.

Deep forest-green eyes turned towards her, surveying her appearance. "Who's this?" the boy, Tom, said sharply. The old lady bit her lip and sighed. "Tom, this is your new roommate – " She never finished her sentence as the door was flung open, and the mysterious Tom Riddle stepped out.

He was nothing like Morgana had expected.

She'd have thought that Riddle would be an intimidating boy with a permanent scowl etched upon his face, perhaps with a thick waist and muscly arms; so much like all the other males she had previously seen before. Instead, his clothes were neat and he had combed, dark ebony hair. Riddle had pale smooth skin and piercing deep green eyes. He also had abnormally long fingers, and his body was not quite skinny nor wide; one might call him thin or lean instead. Indeed, he looked like he could be her cousin.

"Roommate?" Riddle's voice took on a low, dangerous tone. "I thought I made it quite clear that I would prefer to keep this room _as my own_. Or do you need me to say it again?" Mrs. Cole pressed her thin lips together and her eyes narrowed, however Morgana could see her frail body shaking in fear. "Tom, please, just do as I ask. Allow the girl into your room." The boy had a blank face and a cool composure - so much like her own, noted Morgana. Mrs. Cole was trembling now. "Tom…"

Riddle hesitated for a moment, scowled, then reluctantly stepped aside. He nodded as she passed by him into the small room. Glancing around the meticulously tidy, yet incredibly dirty room, Morgana stepped into the corner opposite the bed by the window. Mrs. Cole followed her inside. "Alright, we'll set up a mattress over here then. Unpack, and then come down to dinner. Tom can introduce you to everyone." Quickly leaving the room, the old lady avoided Riddle's piercing gaze. The door shut behind her, and an awkward silence filled the room.

Morgana placed her bag down the floor and turned around to face Riddle.

She placed her hand out in front of her; best not to make enemies just yet. She arranged her face into a pleasant smile. "My name is Morgana Greene. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr.…?" After a long moment, Riddle finally took her hand. His grip was firm and his tone polite. "Tom Riddle. Nice to meet you too," he said shortly. He then turned away from her and strode out the door.

"Lovely," muttered Morgana sarcastically, as she settled down to unpack.

Tom was incensed. How dare that old crone order him about! She should have known by now that this was his building, his territory. He might just have to teach her another… ah, _lesson_. The only reason he carried out Mrs. Cole's commands was because he had to. She was weak, with a soft heart, and very easy to manipulate. Pathetic. He had vowed to himself that when he grew older, he would never become that gullible. He would be powerful, wealthy, and everybody all over the world would know his name. Tom did not care if they knew him through fear, respect or disgust – he wanted power either way sand he would have it. He had already established authority here, and all he had to do was be patient and wait until he could leave Wool's Orphanage for good.

But this was going a step too far. He did not like having to share _his_ room with a _girl_, of all people! It was his room and it had stayed that way for seven years, until now. True, the girl was prettier than the others at the orphanage, there was no denying it. But in Tom's experience, pretty girls also meant _girly_ girls, with fancy frills and bows, constantly fluttering eyelashes and absolutely nothing in their thick skulls at all. Revolting. He did not want to stay in the room with a person like that.

But, as Tom was about to learn, first appearances could be very deceiving.


	3. Tom Riddle

**Thank you all for reading this so far! Special thanks to BlackFeath, C. B. Weasley, korkea and everyone else who has read this so far.**

Morgana sat down on the mattress that had just been brought in. What a miserable place to live in. She had gone down to dinner after packing, which consisted of stale meat and soggy vegetables. She had chewed mechanically and silently, looking exactly like the picture of a girl who had just lost everything – her deep ocean-blue eyes wide, lips pressed together, hands trembling. The other orphans had stared at her curiously, and when they thought she wasn't looking they whispered behind their hands.

_"Who's she?"_

_"I don't know, but I heard she came in this afternoon."_

_"Ooh, I heard she has to room with Tom Riddle…"_

_"No, really? I feel so sorry for her…"_

_"…Living with a monster like that."_

_"Still, he's so handsome. Mysterious and cold…"_

_"What's her name?"_

_"…Begins with a M, I think…"_

Morgana had ignored the whispers and quickly finished her meal. She surveyed the other children and coldly looked each one of them in the eyes. Her face was a blank mask, but her stony gaze made her message clear: _Don't mess with me; you'll regret it_. Frightened faces gazed back at her.

Although they were _roommates_, Morgana and Tom had hardly said a word to each other. Most of the time, she ignored him, and he ignored her. She kept to her side of the room, and he kept to his. Morgana didn't like the boy, and she stayed out of the room, straying to the edges of the property. Sometimes, she would talk to the green garden snakes whom stretched out in the sun. Morgana knew she was extraordinary, because she was not supposed to talk to snakes, which made her want to do it even more. The language rolled off her tongue like water sliding down a smooth rock face.

"Hello," she hissed. She enjoyed speaking to snakes; they were cryptic and clearly intelligent. Sometimes, when she was younger, she had wished to become a snake, to have a life away from the misery and poverty of the orphanage. The snake in front of her had a sleek, scaly body, with a pattern of twisted black diamonds on the back. In the afternoon sunshine, it looked like the snake was carved from the rich, glittering jewel stone itself. She (it was clearly a she to Morgana) reared up as Morgana sat down on the dried yellow grass.

"Another sspeaker," the snake slithered up to her. "You are the ssecond I have met today." Morgana was instantly alert. "The ssecond? Who?" She spoke quickly, immediately scrolling through various candidates. She did not know anyone in the orphanage yet, but she was sure the speaker was the mysterious Tom Riddle. He had that _feeling_ around him. The emerald green serpent chuckled. "Yess," hissed the snake, amused. "The boy-child with hair the color of the sstarless night."

Now, she was staring off into space, thinking, aware of nothing yet at the same time aware of everything. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, the door slightly ajar, open a crack. Green eyes were peering through it, and Morgana knew Tom Riddle was watching her. He was a curious character. Riddle could evidently manipulative the most suspicious of people, and he seemed to hold a certain amount of power within the walls of Wool's Orphanage. The sour Mrs. Cole changed into a frightened old lady whenever she saw Riddle, and the other children's whispers had confirmed that. He could also speak to snakes.

Morgana stood up, calm, cool and composed. "Yes, Riddle?" The hand creeping around the crack froze. Eventually, the wooden door creaked open and Tom Riddle stepped in. His face was as blank and as expressionless as the walls in the room. "Morgana Greene, yes?" Morgana nodded coolly. Riddle continued. "Before you get used to your new surroundings, I think I should inform you of a couple of, ah, rules." Morgana's eyes narrowed, but her face did not betray her emotions. No one would order her around, not while she could help it. She spoke coldly. "Before you tell me these rules, I think I should inform you that I do not follow rules that do not exist for any good reason." Riddle's face was still blank, but Morgana noticed the subtle clenching of his jaw.

"As you probably know from the rumors circulating the orphanage," he said, "I am not someone you want to make an enemy of." Morgana smiled mockingly. "Oh yes, poor handsome Tom Riddle, the subject of a pathetic crush of a dozen girls, but a cold and heartless monster inside." Riddle took a step closer. "You don't seem to understand me, do you, Greene? _I can make bad things happen to you. I can break your bones; I can twist your mind; I can make your worst nightmares become reality_. If you want to survive in this orphanage, you will obey me."

Morgana's lips curled upwards. Those words were so similar to the quiet chatter that had circulated through the younger children at her old orphanage. "You do not seem to understand me either. I do not follow any rules; I do not obey anyone; and especially do not follow people like you. People who feel self-righteous, people who think they deserve respect, people who believe in the delusions of fame and wealth and happy-ever-afters. People who think they're _ambitious_ and _cunning_ when all they are is a nobody dreaming of bigger things." As she spoke, her voice reached low, dangerous tones, and Riddle's eyes slowly narrowed until they were tiny slits. He hissed angrily, syllables rolling off his tongue, so much like a provoked snake. "Unlike you, Greene, I have a reason to deserve respect. You are a mere _female_ and I am a male, and you will learn to respect your superiors."

Morgana scoffed. "And you think you're more powerful than _me_? Think again, Riddle."

Tom felt rage bubbling up inside himself. Sure, he was only 7, but it was never too early to grasp power. And he had control of the whole orphanage. Rumors went where he wanted them to go and the other children did what he wished for them to do. Now, this impertinent girl had to turn up and ruin everything. She needed to obey him. No one mouthed back to Tom Riddle and got away with it. But after his little _demonstration_, she would be begging for mercy. Tom's mouth turned upwards as he relished the thought of Morgana Greene with tears streaming down her face and desperately mouthing a plea. No doubt the weak, spoilt, vain child would do so in a couple of minutes. Girls were all the same – pathetic, weak and stupid.

He raised his hand and flicked his fingers, concentrating. A ball of fire erupted from his fingertips and it scorched Greene's belongings, but his skin was unharmed. Smirking, he looked at the girl, expecting to see her eyes wide and mouth open – but only to find her head tilted curiously, eyes staring at the fire devouring her bag. Tom blinked. Her belongings were being burnt to ashes in front of her eyes, and the girl didn't even flinch. _She must be frozen in shock_, thought Tom. _But then why does she look curious_? Drawing his hand into a fist, the fire was quenched. As the girl was not reacting, he decided the girl needed to learn her lesson further.

He concentrated harder. The bundle of matchsticks by her bedside rose into the air slowly, and turned into razor-sharp steel daggers. Tom smiled wickedly, and laughed maliciously at the look on Greene's face as the daggers/matchsticks rotated to face Morgana. With a swish of his hand, the sharp gleaming metal flew straight at Greene.

Of course, Tom had not planned on killing the girl. A death would look far too suspicious. Instead, he aimed to swoop the daggers in, and freeze the daggers a centimeter away from her face, suspended. Then she would beg for mercy and be frightened of him, and everything would be right. This happened to almost every newcomer that was forced to share a room with Tom. _Stupid old Cole should have learnt her lesson by now._

However, before he could even start to force his thoughts back to the daggers again, the new girl held out a pale hand, blue eyes wide. "Sstop," she hissed. The daggers froze and clattered to the ground, where they turned back into pencils. Tom's smirk froze on his face as his mind whirred in fascination, concocting new plans and re-evaluating old ones, fitting in this mysterious new factor. _She could do it too_. There were others like him out there, with special powers. She could speak the tongue of the snakes too. Had this girl, Greene, been taught by a mentor? What did she know? She seemed to be as powerful as him. _Was she a threat_?

Morgana was stunned. Tom Riddle was like her. He could manipulate objects, change them, and use them to his advantage. He could also speak to serpents, judging by the strange look on his face. Just like her. _She was not alone anymore_. A foreign feeling enveloped her – was it a sense of belonging? A sense of relief? For once, she wasn't quite sure what her emotions were. Belonging – she was special, a part of something bigger than the other children could ever dream of, relief - someone knew how she felt and how she thought at last, and curiosity – did specific people get it from birth or did they have to learn it and grow up with it?

But the one thing Morgana felt was _small._ There were more of them out there, with these powers, and she was just another pawn on the chessboard, another ordinary person out in the world. With her powers, she had felt special, more notable. Now that she knew there more of her kind around the world, she didn't feel quite so… so unique anymore. In that second, Morgana swore to herself she would be remembered in the world, just as Tom Riddle had vowed to himself several months ago. Neither of them were going to be a nobody.

The two children stared at each other, each as different and as the same as each other. A boy, a girl, blue eyes, green eyes; yet they both had the same personality, the same appearance. The same upbringing. The same _powers_.

And in that extraordinary moment, the two understood each other and silently formed an alliance. Both of them knew the risks: this could turn into a power struggle, and only one would emerge victorious. They could come out of this scarred and torn. But both of them could see the benefits as well: their chances of survival in the cold unforgiving world increasing, their curiosity being satisfied, and yet another reason that Morgana could not identify.

This was an opportunity neither one of them could let go of.

**Please do review, they keep this starving fan fiction writer fed. **

**As I have stated above, regular updates are not guaranteed, but I will try to update every 2 days.**


	4. Just Allies Or Something More?

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**C.B. Weasley: Thanks for the positive review. You guys are awesome!**

In the beginning, Tom and Morgana only met together for research purposes. They experimented with their special powers daily. Pushing themselves to their limits, they tried manipulating objects and even people. Both of them were fascinated as Morgana forced Billy Stubbs to hang his own rabbit from the rafters, and have totally no recollection of the event at all afterwards. Of course, Tom was blamed later, but seeing as he had no proof, no actions were ever taken against him, although Stubbs absolutely hated him after that.

Having these powers were extremely useful, especially since they lived in terrible conditions. In the cold winter, Tom would concentrate deeply and warm the room up. When anything broke, Morgana would easily fix it up by waving a hand casually. Tom and Morgana had an ongoing, friendly competition to see who could outdo each other using their powers. As of such, Tom was excellent at harming objects and people, but Morgana was brilliant at fixing them back up again. They made an excellent team; however, as far as Tom was concerned, they were only allies, nothing more.

That all changed when they discovered incantations.

Previously, Tom and Morgana used their powers purely by thought and willpower. Concentration was key to achievement, and it took a lot of strength to achieve a high-powered result. Recently, though, Tom had wondered whether _saying_ something would trigger the results. He said so to Morgana. "That could be possible," she mused. "But I doubt saying 'Abracadabra' would help." Tom chuckled dryly.

They scoured the public library for dictionaries and books on ancient languages. "It must be an ancient language or a foreign one, otherwise if we said a random word, it would trigger a reaction and we would already know," reasoned Tom. When they went to check out the books, the young lady at the counter frowned at them. "Where are your parents?" she asked them kindly. Morgana immediately put on her innocent mask.

"Oh, miss, we're orphans…" her eyes were big and round, as was Tom's, although a tiny hint of a smirk shone through his upset demeanor. The lady bit her lip and her eyes softened sympathetically. "Poor dears," she murmured. The annoying librarian had not bothered them after that.

When they reached their room, they locked the door and started experimenting. First, they tried English, which produced a result, but it was not very strong.

"Try again," ordered Morgana. Tom did his best to ignore the commanding tone (_I command her, not the other way round…_), set the English dictionary aside and picked up the French one. They were trying out 'summoning spells', as Morgana had so teasingly dubbed their powers, magic. Tom was trying out the word 'action' and 'summon' in each book.

"_Venez_ _ici_," Morgana pronounced, clearly and loudly. She waved her hand and flicked her fingers. Nothing happened. They continued in this vein for a variety of languages, with a variety of results. After the tenth failed attempt, Tom sighed and dumped the language volume on the ever increasing pile of discarded books. They had tried English, German, Greek, Portuguese, French and even Chinese.

"Here goes nothing," groaned Tom, picking up the last book, Latin. He flipped through the old, crinkled pages and tapped his finger on the word. "This might work," he muttered and showed it to Morgana. She nodded.

"_Accio!_" She flicked her fingers quickly, loudly saying the word. A _whoosh_ could be heard as the pile of heavy books zoomed towards Morgana. She ducked and the rest of the books smashed into the wall. Morgana stood back up again, grinning at Tom, who smirked back at her. All of sudden, though, Morgana's legs crumpled beneath her. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she hit the floor with a soft _thump_.

Tom jumped out of his seat and hurried to Morgana's side. Why had she suddenly fainted? He placed his fingers on her pulse and was relieved to find that she was still alive. He concentrated carefully, and levitated Morgana onto her mattress.

He closed his eyes and placed his long fingers on her cheeks. _Wake up. Wake up!_ He willed with all his power, and Morgana sat up, flushed. "Get your hands off me," she growled. Tom quickly retracted his hands from her and the two just sat there, in awkward silence.

_Why did that happen?_ Tom wondered to himself. _Why did I care so much?_ Caring was a foreign feeling to Tom Riddle, but it felt kind of – _nice. Oh god, did I just think that caring was nice?_ Tom resolved to not get too close to the mysterious girl in front of him, and quickly locked his masks into place.

"What happened?" murmured Morgana finally, rubbing her head. Thankfully, she didn't mention anything about his actions.

Tom spoke up, relieved to break the silence. "We were trying out 'summoning spells' and it worked; Latin is the key. One of the oldest languages in the world, why didn't we try it first? Accio means summon or action, and the power behind the spell was amazing."

Tom grinned, but then frowned. "One thing I don't understand is, why did you faint? Was the spell too hard to handle?" he asked, trying not to let any real emotion into his voice. He disguised his concern heavily behind a thick curtain of accusation. _I don't care about her_, he said to himself. _I just want to know if it will drain my magic. Right?_

Oblivious to the inner turmoil of Tom, Morgana snapped at the slightly accusing tone. "Oh yes, I can just choose when to faint and when not to," she replied sarcastically. Morgana immediately regretted her words when Tom leveled his gaze at her and stared right at her eyes coldly. He was the type of person who demanded respect at all times. Tom was possessive, and controlling, and sometimes having someone who could banter with him was good, but right now it was annoying. "Little girls who play with fire get burnt," he hissed. "Give me a straight answer, Morgana. Now." Morgana blinked at the sudden mood swing and shuddered slightly at the sheer amount of authority rolling off his tongue, simultaneously marveling and fearing the boy in front of her. He was right: playing with fire was dangerous – but only if you weren't cautious. This dance of banter and magic fascinated her, drew her in, but if she got too close he would burn her fingers off.

But his mood swings still changed faster than a pubescent girl.

"I was just feeling tired, I guess. Worded powers are definitely more powerful, but I think I'll have to get used to it first," Morgana answered truthfully. Tom nodded, a blank, neutral face on again.

From then on, Morgana and Tom became slightly warmer around each other. They laughed together, read together, traded witty comments and insults, and generally spent their spare time with each other. However, they treaded carefully. Tom was cautious not to let too much sarcasm flow out of Morgana's mouth towards him, and Morgana was careful not to step over her boundaries. But as hard as they tried, the two could not resist forming a tentative friendship.

Unlike the young, air-headed girls who gazed dreamily after Tom, Morgana was actually intelligent. She could uphold her side of the argument with solid, valid facts and keep up with his reasoning and train of thought. She was practical, she was sarcastic, and she was cunning; basically, Morgana Greene was everything Tom Riddle thought she was not.

However, the females that resided in Wool's Orphanage did _not_ agree with this arrangement, particularly another girl named Lavina George. She had brown curls and large chocolate eyes. She was particularly vain and hated Morgana. "What does Tom see in that - " here, Lavina called the girl a rather disgusting name that did not sound right coming out of those petite lips. "I mean, honestly, _Morgana_. What a, a _witchy_ name! It sounds so horrible, how can Tom stand it!"

The other girls simply nodded their heads, already used to Lavina's rants about Morgana. Lavina was another recent addition to Wool's Orphanage. Her rich parents had spoilt her rotten, until one day, while Lavina was arguing with them, they died in a horrific car crash.

_Mr. and Mrs. George were in the front seat of their plush car. Mr. George had a large moustache and silken tailored clothes, as he was the director of a large insurance firm. He had a round waist and especially liked to wear fedoras. His wife had a skinny waist and superficial looks. She wore clothes in the latest fashion magazines and was not very nice to others. Mr. George barely worked during the day, while Mrs. George did not work at all. _

_At that moment, they were speeding along the road, Mr. George driving them towards a fancy restaurant. Lavina George, their spoilt daughter, was in the back, whining to her parents. "Stacy has the latest doll, mummy, I want that doll. She says only special people can afford to have that doll because her daddy gave it to her for her birthday party. Mummy, Daddy, I want to have a birthday party. And when I do, Daddy can give me that doll."_

_Mrs. George pursed her lips. "Darling, your birthday was last week. But," she said quickly, seeing her daughter's disappointed face, "We can have a birthday party tomorrow, if you want." Lavina smiled at her mother; it looked more like a grimace. "And Daddy, I want that makeup kit. Stacy says only pretty people can have that doll, when I tried to take it from her. She wouldn't give it to me though, even if we are FRIENDS, so if I look pretty tomorrow she has to give me her doll."_

_Mr. George loved his daughter, but this was going a bit too far. Lavina was only 6, after all. "Dearest, you're a bit young for makeup – " Lavina screeched. "I AM NOT TOO YOUNG TO LOOK PRETTY!" Mr. George turned around and tried to console his wailing daughter. "Now, darling…"_

_As Mr. George ignored his steering wheel, he also failed to notice the glaring red traffic light blazing at the car. The vehicle continued to speed forwards, hitting the tow truck crossing the intersection. With a spectacular _crunch_, the car spun around and did a back flip in mid-air, crashing into the ground…_

Lavina was the only survivor of the incident, but despite having to live in an orphanage, as no other relatives would take her, she continued trying to live her rich lifestyle. And in her life, Lavina George got everything Lavina George wanted.

And now, a year later, Lavina George wanted Tom Riddle. But she just didn't understand why the handsome boy simply ignored her. She was pretty, wasn't she? Everyday, for the last year or so, Lavina had pursued Tom Riddle, but he just brushed her off. And now, that stupid bimbo, Morgana Greene, came along and in only _6 months_, she had established a friendship with Tom Riddle, while she had been trying for a whole year!

Lavina fumed. One day, that witch would get what was coming to her.

**So what do you think? I've tried to make the characters have a more complex personality (Tom having slight worrying feelings, Morgana blushing...) but I think they still seem somehow one dimensional. **

**Please review!**


	5. Taken

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Harry Potter.**

**Thanks for the positive reviews, and all the views on this story. Hope you enjoy the chapter.**

It was early spring in 1939 and Lavina's wish still had not come true.

Morgana and Tom were now the best of friends. Of course, they were not the sort of emotional, mushy type of best friends – they were reserved and they were both incredibly intimidating. The rest of the orphanage knew not to mess with either of them, but they couldn't help admiring the powerful pair. Tom Riddle and Morgana Greene knew each other like the backs of their hands, but they still had their own secrets.

While Morgana was his friend, Tom Riddle changed. He was more… _human_. He knew emotions, he understood others, and he became slightly warmer. However, this only made him more dangerous – he now knew how to manipulate people using their emotions, which was a lot more effective compared to physically scaring them.

Morgana taught Tom about how to expose weakness, as everyone had their weak point. You just had to find it and strike it with sharp, cutting words. In return, Tom taught Morgana the art of manipulation and persuasion, and how to emit that alluring aura of power to make people listen to you. Together, they made a frighteningly good team, and they were so much like each other - private, mysterious, but powerful. Once, they talked about themselves. But only once.

"Why Tom? Did you pick your name?" Morgana asked him. Tom scowled. "No. I don't like my name. It's so... common." Morgana smirked. "Well then, I suppose I'm lucky to have a name like Morgana, even if I didn't pick it either." Tom smirked. "But Morgana's so witchy!" he mimicked Lavina's voice perfectly. Morgana chuckled, pleased at the rare openness Tom was showing.

His face turned serious again. "Do you think your… parents… had this power too? Like being able to control forces and all that? Magic?"

Morgana sucked in a sharp breath. They rarely treaded on the topic of _parents_. It was a sore subject for Tom, because the Matron delighted in telling him that he was the cause of his mother's death. According to the old crone, the woman had died in childbirth, seconds after Tom had been born. "The first thing you did, you little freak, was kill someone," she cackled drunkenly one night. Morgana's eyes widened and she turned around sharply. Tom's face had drained of colour and the eight year old almost set the ancient matron on fire. In that moment, Morgana had been deathly afraid of the boy. She thought she saw a flash of crimson in those narrowed eyes, but thankfully nothing extreme happened. After that, though, _no one_ talked about Tom Riddle's parents. Ever.

"I don't know," she spoke slowly, as if to a wild cat. Wild cats were guarded and possessive, and they wouldn't hesitate to unleash their sharp claws if provoked. Just like Tom. Morgana paused at the neutral look on Tom's face, and continued carefully. "I don't think so. If my parents were magical, why would they leave me here? If they were poor, couldn't they just summon money from the local folk? No, I think my parents were just stupid, common people who couldn't be bothered to raise me properly." These last words came out in a bitter tone, and the tension became so thick that Morgana could almost slice through it with a butter knife.

Tom's green eyes had a tender sheen to them. "My mother died here," he spoke softly, almost as if Morgana weren't there and he was speaking to himself. "She can't have been magical. If she was like me, she wouldn't have died. She would have saved herself with these powers, and she would have raised me up in a proper family." Morgana swallowed. "And your father?" she whispered, holding her breath. Tom's face turned to hers, suddenly guarded again. "That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business." But then his eyes softened slightly, and he gave a small shrug.

Morgana took that as a 'I don't know'. Tom's pride wouldn't let him say the words anyway.

So although they were quiet, dangerous and very powerful, the two were happy with the company.

But the happiness wasn't to last.

It was a cool summer's day, and the children were at a nearby public park. The younger ones were running about, chasing each other; the older ones were wandering around, bored; Lavina George and her 'friends' were glaring at Morgana; and the girl herself was with Tom Riddle as usual. It was her birthday – not that it mattered. She didn't celebrate birthdays, and neither did Tom. They had found a nice sturdy oak tree, and Tom leaned against it, reading, as Morgana waved her hand casually, trying out her magic, Tom looking up occasionally amused.

Morgana conjured up a squirrel and watched it run about, squeaking. She sat down on the grass and amused herself by trying to shoot tiny bolts of lightening at it. Tom chuckled darkly as the rodent froze and crackled with electricity before slumping over. "One fried squirrel," he hissed. Morgana grinned, but she soon got bored and leant against the tree, trying to read over Tom's shoulder while skipping stones across the surface of the pond nearby. She 'accidently' hit Lavina's face with a pebble. The girl had annoyed her to no end while she was in Wool's Orphanage.

_"Sooo… you're Tom's friend, are you?" Lavina pestered Morgana non-stop as she ate her meals. Morgana hated the sound of her high, annoying voice, wishing the stupid girl would go away. She met Tom's questioning gaze and gave him her best 'there's-an-oh-so-annoying-person-over-here-get-me-out-of-here-now' look. He stifled a grin._

_"Yes," replied Morgana neutrally. Lavina pursed her lips. "Tom doesn't have friends. I bet he's just using you. You're not his friend," she told Morgana in an all-knowing tone. Morgana simply tilted her head. "Neither are you, George. You can't exactly talk, now, can you?," she reminded Lavina. The spoilt girl glared at her. "Has anyone told you you're ugly? And annoying? And stupid?"_

_"No, no, and no," said Morgana coldly. "Why? Feeling a bit of déjà vu from previous experiences?" Tom and Morgana traded smirks as Lavina fumed._

Lavina always turned vengeful whenever she was reminded of that day. She HATED that horrible witch. She vowed to herself every night that, one day, Morgana Greene would meet her end. On that fateful day, Lavina was the first to hear the distant thumps of a bombing raid. War had been declared a few weeks ago, and the country was in a state of terror. She called out to the Matron. "Ma'am! It's the bombs! They're here in London!" she shrieked. The children around her panicked and Tom and Morgana jumped to their feet.

Lavina hurriedly opened the gate. _They'd never really had bombs this close to the orphanage before_, she thought, shaken. She had always thought that she was far from danger, but the distant booms was cold, hard proof that she was wrong. Lavina glanced around and saw her handsome Tom running up, followed close behind by that Morgana witch. In a fit of stupid jealousy, she stepped out of the way as Tom sprinted through the narrow gate. As Morgana Greene reached the gate, seconds behind him, Lavina pushed the tall gates shut soundlessly.

Greene's eyes burnt with a furious fire. "_Open the gate_," she hissed. Lavina twisted the lock into place and stepped a few paces away from the enraged Morgana. She sneered, turned, and ran back to the orphanage. "Coward!" she called out after the retreating figure. Morgana shook the tall iron gates that towered over her and was struck by a feeling of desperation as she heard the bombs devastating the town. All of a sudden, she heard loud commands issued a few metres away from her.

"Kill any Muggles you find, I don't care who it is. Capture the Mudbloods alive, the boss wants to experiment on them." Morgana frowned in confusion. Muggles? Mudbloods? What were these lunatics on about? It didn't matter, though, they were _going to kill whoever stood in the way_. Frantically she summoned her powers and concentrated on the iron gate. With a horrifyingly loud crash, it smashed to the ground. Morgana heard the terrifying footsteps marching towards her. "What was that?"

Immediately, Morgana scrambled over the crumpled metal, but bumped right into a large, leering man who raised a… stick at her? Confused and afraid, she used her powers to knock the man out and grab his '_weapon'_. However, once the long smooth stick touched her pale fingers, Morgana felt a surge of power rush into her body. A warm fuzzy feeling tingled in her hand, and it quickly spread up her entire arm. Morgana rubbed the wood between her fingers, somehow drawing comfort from it. However, there was a small nudge of resistance from the smooth wooden stick. It didn't quite feel right, as if the wood itself was opposing her. Still, she felt so _powerful_.

Amazed, she stared at the wood in her hand, fascinated. Then, a disgustingly sweet voice spoke right in her ear. She jumped and swore under her breath – somehow the man had managed to creep up right behind her.

_"A mudblood, eh? Don't get used to the wand, girl, you won't need it for long…"_

That was the last thing Morgana heard before she blacked out. However, she did see the man raise the _wand_ at her and mutter some words (_spells_?), before she faded away into unconsciousness.

When Morgana awoke, she was chained to the wall in a cold, grey, empty room. There were no windows or decorations of any kind. The floor was dusty; obviously the room had not been in use for awhile. She was still wearing her clothes, but her belongings had been taken from her. She sat there for hours and hours, waiting and waiting, observing, watching. Finally, the thick metallic door opened with a screech. She leaped to her feet, ignoring the painful yank on her wrist.

A blond, tall, strong man stepped in with a big, genuine smile on his face. He wore strange, long, foreign clothes – robes, perhaps? – and in his large hand he grasped a stretch of wood, similar to the stick she had felt so much power from.

The man saw her examining at the stick and laughed merrily. "Ah, this is a wand, my dear," he said, in answer to her unasked question. "My name is Gellert Grindelwald, and I am a wizard." Morgana froze, staring at him, eyes wide. She stayed in that position for a second, before assuming her usual cold composure. "A wizard?" she asked smoothly. The _wizard_, Grindelwald smirked at her. "Yes."

"Alright," she drawled,

Morgana's thoughts whirled around her head, flying through thousands of possibilities. He was definitely out here to harm her, why else would they have taken her? The commander had said that 'the boss wants to experiment'. Was that what she was to him? A lab rat?

"Oh no, Morgana," Grindelwald replied. Morgana looked coldly at him and carefully sifted through her mind. She found an exterior presence in her head and connected the dots quickly. "Get out of my mind, Mr. Grindelwald." The blond man smirked at her and she could feel him sliding out of her mind. "Can all wizards read minds?" she asked, and cursed herself. What an idiotic question.

The wizard didn't seem to mind. He answered in a jolly voice. "Oh no. It's called Legilimency, and only very powerful wizards or witches can do it. Evidently, you have a talent for it." Morgana tilted her head, interested. "I am a witch?" Grindelwald's voice changed to a more serious tone. "No, you are not an actual witch. You are a Mudblood." Despite her various flaws, Morgana knew when she was being insulted. It was a curious sensation to be insulted, yet not know what exactly she was being insulted with.

"A Mudblood?" she cautiously prodded. Grindelwald nodded passionately. "Yes, a Mudblood. An improper, _weak_ witch, a muggleborn, with non-magical parentage. Only purebloods are true wizards or witches, with magical, pureblooded parents." Morgana could feel her fury rising within her. The injustice of it all! "You are wrong. I am powerful, but I am a _Muggleborn_. You are simply prejudiced, too stupid to widen your narrow-minded view of the world." Her harsh words hit Grindelwald hard, and his entire attitude shifted. His calm, jolly attire dropped and his face was hard, jaw set.

"You are a worthless Mudblood. You are an experiment, that is all. Not an equal, not powerful, and certainly not a guest in this base." He raised his wand and smirked. "I hope you like pain, Mudblood, because you'll have to get used to it very soon."

"_Crucio_!"

Unimaginable pain coursed through her veins, and Morgana struggled to keep her mouth shut. Her bones were breaking, a thousand sharp knives were piercing through her skin, her head was being battered with a thousand clubs, her nails were being ripped out of their beds, her arms were being torn off her body… Suddenly, after what seemed like hours but were mere minutes, the excruciating pain stopped. No bones broken, no knives, no clubs, and her nails were still there… _for now_. Morgana panted and Grindelwald eyed her appraisingly. "Not many can resist the torture curse. Too bad your talents shall be put to waste. Now, apologize!"

Morgana defiantly shook her head. "I never apologize to my inferiors," she croaked. Grindelwald snarled, and lifted his wand once more.

The screams ripped out of her mouth and echoed around the room, as the Dark Lord tortured the 10-year old girl with a sadistic smile on his handsome, twisted face.

**Yes, I know. Plot twist! So dramatic, yes? To be frank, I don't really like writing torture scenes. However, it'll fit in with the story later.**

**Maybe if I'm bored, I might post another chapter today. Otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow.**


	6. Loss

**Disclaimer: I've only ****written 7 chapters (magic number right there!), but I'm already tired of writing disclaimers. So I'll say it again: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER.**

**Woohoo! 7 chapters! Thank you, C.B Weasley and BlackFeath for your kind comments. I'm afraid this is only a sort of filler chapter, but hope you enjoy!**

As Morgana was locked up and tortured in the Dark Lord Grindelwald's Headquarters overnight, Tom was pacing in their room, waiting. "Where is she?" he muttered. Tom had barely slept at night, and was slightly relieved to see the rays of dawn shining through the small, smudged window. He cast his mind back to the park._ He had been running, and he could hear Morgana behind him… and then when he got to the orphanage he couldn't hear her anymore…_

He ran his fingers through his dark hair, replaying the scene in his mind. _Tom and Morgana jumped up. Tom sprinted towards the gates, tugging Morgana behind him. Billy Stubbs had squeaked and tripped over his own feet, Amy Benson had screamed and alerted the Matron, Lavina George had opened the gate, and Dennis Bishop had trembled in fear when the second loud THUMP echoed around the park…_

Hang on_… Lavina George had opened the gate…_ that meant George would have been the last person through the gate, as he had clearly heard Mrs. Cole tell the girl to 'keep the gate open'. The heavy iron gates looked impossibly tall, and Tom hated the horrible screeching noise they made when closed. But he had heard them close behind him. So how… A horrible thought struck him, but with every second he dwelled upon it, it began to fall into place.

Morgana had still been stuck behind the gates when he was running back to safety.

And there was only one person – no, two – to blame for this. The first was himself, and the second was the spoilt, jealous Lavina George. Tom Riddle clenched his jaw, and though he was only 10 years old, he already knew the feeling of revenge well. He stalked down the narrow corridor, his face grim and eyes set on the faded purple door opposite Billy Stubbs. As the orphanage was crowded, Mrs. Cole had no choice but to make girls room with boys. However, she had that tiny spark of intelligence when she had the genders separated as soon as they reached 12. She did not like teenage drama.

Tom's best poker face was set, but a hint of his deep fury could still be seen. Billy Stubbs firmly shut the door and hoped Riddle was not there for him. The tall, pale boy knocked politely on the wood, and a few giggles escaped as the door opened a crack. Lavina poked her head out and blushed prettily at Tom. "Hello, Tom," she said. Tom stared back at her impassively. "Good morning, Lavina. Do you mind if I come in?" She giggled, as only a 10 year old could giggle, and opened the door fully. Tom stepped into the horrible girl's room and twitched. The room was just so… so – girly.

Lavina closed the door behind her and smiled at Tom. When Tom did not smile back, her smile faltered. The boy stepped up to her, no trace of pleasantry or politeness on his face now. "Lavina George," he said lowly. Lavina shivered – Tom's voice was so deep for his age. _But he was so handsome…_ The next sentence he said, though, made her heart skip a beat.

"Where is Morgana Greene?"

Lavina sub-consciously edged towards the door. "I don't know what you mean," she said, trying to look innocent. To her surprise, Tom Riddle's eyes darkened, and he stepped forwards threateningly. "You, Ms. George, are _quite_ the liar, aren't you?"

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart dropped. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, so quiet she had to strain to hear it. She almost wished she didn't. "_But not good enough."_ He turned her head to face him and stared into her brown, chocolate eyes. "I know it was you, so don't bother denying it, like you do with so many other crimes you commit. All those things you take from the other people."

Tom prepared himself to do exactly what Morgana was best at – cutting open others' chests and wrenching out their heart, ripping out their dreams and delusions.

Figuratively, of course. He wasn't a monster.

"What are you talking about?" The girl leaped backwards, away from him. "I never stole anything!" Tom grinned, shark-like. "Oh, but you have. You say others' _give_ their things to you, because you're _popular_?" Lavina screwed her nose up, uncomprehending. Tom sighed theatrically. "See what I mean? You aren't smart," here, he stepped closer to her, "you aren't sporty," Lavina glared daggers at Tom, but he could see her resolve and determination weakening, fading away, "and you _most certainly_ aren't _beautiful_. Or pretty. Or whatever term you use to describe beauty. How could you be popular, when you are _nothing_?" Tom grinned as her eyes filled with fear and the painful disappointment.

Lavina's worst fears – that she was nothing, and her parents had died for nothing, and no one truly liked her, that she was NOTHING in the world – snaked out of Riddle's lips. Her eyes filled with tears, and she couldn't feel the point of denying her involvement with the 'Get Rid Of Greene' operation. She was nothing. Not popular. Not clever. _Not Morgana_. But Tom wasn't done yet. He had broken her, but it wasn't enough.

He leaned in, anticipating her fear and drinking it in. He breathed into her earlobe. "You are nothing, and you know it. So how did you find the _audacity_ to pine after me, when you know you are _nothing_? Why, you couldn't have thought that I would have _liked you back_, did you? Did you?" Her heart completely shattered and tears spilled out of Lavina George's eyes. She sobbed, and Tom delighted in making her _fear_ him, without even lifting a finger. "Look at you, you poor, deluded soul," he crooned. "_Love you? Why would anyone ever want to love you, least of all I!_" Riddle laughed, an icy sound, as Lavina George broke.

Tom knelt to the ground, and lifted Lavina's chin up to face him. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks were stained with wet tears. _Pathetic_, he thought. Lavina trembled, making strangled, choked noises. "Now tell me, where is Morgana Greene?"

Lavina struggled to talk without sobbing, and the words poured out her faster than she thought possible. "S-she's still in the p-park. I s-shut the gate a-and she- she's still trapped be-behind them. I- I was jealous, s-see, so I d-didn't think and I s-shut the gate," her high voice wavered. _Please don't harm me_, she silently prayed. The simple sentences were enough for Riddle, and he had disappeared faster than Lavina could comprehend. _He cares about her_, Lavina's mind whispered to her. _Not you_.

Lavina George dissolved into tears once more.

Tom stormed back to the park. He had thought Morgana was _clever._ She should have gotten out already. Perhaps he had overestimated her abilities… However, his furious, dark thoughts stopped immediately as soon as he turned the corner.

The iron gates had been blown wide open, and the charred remains of the park were still smoking. The oak tree they had been leaning against yesterday had been completely demolished, and there was an official-looking man nearby. He had a small goatee and a round porky belly, and his face wore a sad frown. Tom put on a polite smile and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, but what happened here?" The man whirled around, a frightened look in his eyes, before relaxing. "Sorry, kid, thought you were the enemy."

The animal inside Tom bristled and snarled. _I AM NOT A CHILD_! It shouted, but Tom shut it up and maintained his polite demeanor. "The enemy?" The man nodded, surprising forthcoming. He seemed eager to share the ghastly information, perhaps to frighten the 10 year old boy in front of him. "Yeah, the enemy. Turns out, the place was raided by them Nazis, or their allies. No traces of life left. They think them soldiers were waiting on the other side of the park, ready to storm the schools or take the children…"

Tom stopped listening after the man said raided, his mind preferring to drift than listen to the official blather on. Raided? Raided! There were bombs and raids! He should have suspected it, they were right by the coast after all. But he hadn't thought Germany would act so quickly. _Fool_, Tom cursed himself. If he had just prepared, Morgana would be safe now. She would be alive…

"No traces of life? None?" he asked. The man stopped midway through his recount and blinked. "Yep, didn't find a soul alive here. Couple of poor dead children though, a couple of boys and a girl. So unfortunate, their bodies have been mangled beyond recognition. I have children of my own, you know…" Tom listened in horror. The mangled body of a girl. Oh, Morgana… That stupid George girl would PAY!

Tom turned and ran away from the scene of death. Morgana was dead. She had to be. And now he was all alone, by himself. Again.

From that moment on, Tom Riddle would continue to fear and hate death. Death had snatched his childhood friend's _life_ from right under his nose; he would not let it take his.

_Many months later…_

Morgana shuddered as she wrapped her pale arms around her skinny frame. She raised her head towards the wall opposite her. Her eyes had dark rings circling them, and the chalk white skin only accentuated it. Her silky hair had turned greasy and lank, and her nails were grimy and covered with dirt. However, Morgana still had that fighting spirit within. The blank wall opposite the girl was covered in tiny marks and scratches. Tired and hungry, Morgana lifted a finger and made a sharp slicing motion downwards. A new scratch appeared on the wall. Day 187.

Grindelwald came in almost every day, taunting her and torturing her when she did not obey him. He would come in waving his wand and _teaching_ her magic.

_"Good morning, my dear girl," the door swung open and the cheery Dark Lord strolled in. "Wonderful day, mm?" he whistled a merry tune and shut the door. "Now, time to learn! I always wanted to be a teacher, but Albus would never let me…" Morgana sighed quietly. Grindelwald was jolly, but he also had a wicked temper. It was best to do what he said, until she could escape._

_"Right. Morgana, my girl, why don't we have a duel?" Morgana knew she would lose. Grindelwald seemed to like establishing that he could beat 'Albus' in a duel, whoever that was. Morgana stood up and wiggled her fingers. She was not given a wand. Why would she have one?_

_"Begin!" Grindelwald started firing rapid bolts of lightening at her. Morgana dodged every one of them and tried to fire some back. The man laughed as her weak attempt of a Stunner whizzed by him. "Now, dear, do try fight back!" He continued in this vein for quite some time, his strong experienced spells clearly outmatching the weak, tired and inexperienced Morgana. After a good half an hour, Morgana was hit in the chest by the lightning. Electricity sparked as her nerves were fried, and her body went limp. Grindelwald cackled slightly insanely and left the room._

_Her heart sank. It was just like the incident when she was in the park with Tom, hurling electricity at the poor squirrel. Tom… Except now, things had changed._

_Except now, she was the squirrel. _

Morgana wished she was back with Tom. Did he think of her? Perhaps. It had been months though – maybe he had found someone else. She doubted it; Tom and her were one-of-a-kind. She gritted her teeth as she thought of Grindelwald. Morgana wanted to burn him, torture him, rip him to shreds…

…but she would wait. She would be patient. And when the time came, she would have her revenge, and her freedom.

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	7. Hit The Ground Running

**Disclaimer: I've checked. I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Just to confirm, this is the year 1944. I've had to mix up the timeline a bit (Tom was supposed to be 3 years older!) but this story will ****_mainly_**** follow the canon timeline.**

**This chapter is set in Germany – but I don't speak a word of German. Therefore, any words that should be said in German, will be written in English like **_this_**. This chapter is to all of you who wrote reviews and clicked that Follow/Fav button up there!**

Another 5 years had passed by.

Tom Riddle had been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was now almost 15 years old, and about to enter his OWL year. He was, naturally, top of all his classes. He was the heartthrob of the entire female population at Hogwarts (even some small first years stared after him with glassy eyes) and he was aware of it. He was Professor Slughorn's protégée; not to mention every other professor, except for the Transfiguration teacher, Professor Dumbledore.

Tom still lived at Wool's Orphanage, but he did not forget Morgana Greene. He still had her belongings, shut up in her closet. When he was 11, he had longed to go to Hogwarts, in hopes of meeting Morgana again… before he remembered she was dead. Still, he held a childish fancy that one day, he might talk to her again.

As for Morgana, she was still trapped inside Grindelwald's heavily fortified headquarters in Germany. The Dark Wizard still played his games with her, demonstrating new spells everyday – on her. What the self-proclaimed Dark Lord _didn't_ know was that she memorized every spell that came her way, the incantation, the wand movements, everything. Sometimes, in the dark cover of the night, Morgana would practice the wand movements carefully. She still had that tiny spark of hope that she could escape.

Morgana had very little to eat, causing her to look like a wraith. Pale skin was covered in grime and muck, and her body was unhealthily thin. The bones of her ribcage showed through the thin layer of skin and her hair was a rat's nest. However, the feature that stood out the most was a long, jagged scar that ran across her face, from the tips of her eyebrows to her cheekbones. This was a painful reminder that crossing Grindelwald was not a good idea.

_About a year into her imprisonment, Morgana had dared to try escaping. During the Dark Lord and her own little sessions, she had impulsively sent a high powered Stunner at Grindelwald, knocking him out. Morgana hadn't meant to do it – she had simply grown tired of losing on purpose to the wizard. She took the opportunity to run out of her cell, leaving an unconscious Dark Lord behind. Morgana had gotten as far as the guard office, when the alarm began to sound. Before she knew it, her hands had been restrained behind her back by two gruff looking guards, and a furious Grindelwald had stormed up to her. Apparently, Stunners didn't last that long._

_"Who do you think you are?" he hissed, spit flying out of his mouth. Morgana stared back defiantly, and winced as Grindelwald poked his wand into the hollow of her neck. His eyes had a slightly insane gleam, and he leaned in closely. Morgana could practically feel his hot breath on her neck. "How is it that a Mudblood like you, Morgana, could possibly overwhelm the greatest wizard of all time?" Grindelwald sneered. Morgana spat in his face and he reared up. "You're not the greatest wizard of all time," she blurted. Despite the fact that she knew that she would be heavily punished, she couldn't stop the stream of insults flowing from her sharp tongue._

_"How can the greatest wizard in the world, be afraid of a school teacher?" The Dark Lord froze and tensed. "How do you know about that?" he hissed. Morgana refused to back down – her pride would not let her. "Your guards spoke of it," she smirked. "Albus Dumbledore is stronger than you will ever be," she taunted. "After all, didn't he ditch you for his brother? Or was the rumor mill wrong?" Grindelwald roared in fury and with a wave of his elder wood wand, the guards crumpled to the ground like rag dolls with severed strings. "Albus is a coward! He left me for his stupid brother and his paralyzed sister, all because of a fatal curse!"_

_"That Aberforth, he was a fool. A fool with no ambitions, trying to hold Albus back from our plans. And he listened!" Spit flew out of Grindelwald's mouth, creating a picture of fearsome rage, but Morgana could see that, glistening in his sky blue eyes, there was a gleam of hurt and betrayal. Perhaps they had been lovers? Morgana promptly informed Grindelwald of her guess, and received a Cutting Hex for it._

_"How dare you!" Suddenly, the terrifying glare was gone and a gleeful smirk appeared on his face. He stepped closer and traced his thick finger down her grimy skin. "What's wrong, sweetheart? You look scared," he cackled. Suddenly, out of the blue, he raised his wand and slashed downwards violently._

_Morgana fought back a terrified whimper and felt the spell cut into her skin. She could feel the blood slowly trailing down her cheek. Grindelwald grinned widely and conjured a large mirror. Morgana tried desperately not to look at it, but she was horrified as she saw what Grindelwald's spell had done. The Dark magic had cut a deep, jagged scar into her face. It stretched over her face grotesquely and disfigured her once pretty features. The wizard grabbed her chin and tilted her head up towards his face. "Isn't it beautiful, my dear? Such a beautiful present to improve your face." The guards behind him, who had recovered and were eager to please their Master again, snickered and the Dark Lord curled his lips. "Didn't they teach you manners, girl? Shouldn't you thank me for such a generous gift?" Morgana gritted her teeth and stayed silent._

_Grindelwald promptly dug his nails into her wound and Morgana hissed in pain. Still he dragged his fingers down the bloodied line, deepening it. She knew it would never heal without powerful Healing magic – magic she didn't know how to do. "Thank you," she said through clenched teeth. _

_She would bow now, but one day she would be free._

Morgana's scar eventually stopped bleeding, but it never fully healed. The scar was a terrible reminder of failure to her everyday, but it kept her going.

Now, as the moon was rising in the sky, with her heart a-thumping and her fingers a-trembling, Morgana was ready to carry out her final escape plan.

First, to take care of her fetters. Morgana kept a watchful glance out for the guards, and stretched her pale fingers towards her chains and cuffs. "_Alohomora_," she whispered. Her cuffs sprang open; evidently the guards thought her too stupid to know spells. Thank goodness her sham had worked – Morgana had acted like a light-headed, unpractical girl, like the ones at Wool's Orphanage. Now, with her limbs and body free, she conjured up a puppet-like replica of herself, sleeping. Waving her hands quickly, she silenced the room.

Slightly drained of magic, Morgana breathed in deeply to calm herself. From her knowledge, the base was deep underground and the Headquarters was heavily guarded, so there was no point in escaping through the main door. She was on the bottom level, for prisoners. She couldn't (and wouldn't) dig straight up through the soil – if she did, she would simply dig through to the next level. Instead, she would dig her way down, to the side, then up through the rough soil. She raised her hands to her head, and used a Bubble-Head Charm to encase her skull in a bubble. Morgana clasped her hands together and pointed two fingers at the grubby floor, as if her hand were a wand. A jet of deep blue light blasted out of the tips of her fingers and the concrete collapsed outwards – silently.

Morgana clambered into the hole and sealed the concrete floor (now ceiling) back together. With luck, the guards would not discover her deception until early morning. That gave her roughly 6 hours to escape and get far, far away from Grindelwald. Morgana was surrounded by dark soil, but her Bubble-Head Charm protected her head from the worst of it and allowed her to breathe. Unfortunately, she was blinded, so she had to feel her way through the dirt and claw her way upwards to keep upright.

Slightly panicked by her sudden blindness, Morgana fumbled around, using the flat surface above her to guess where the side was. She clenched her fist and the dirt cleared out, forming a short horizontal tunnel. Calming down at the extra space created, Morgana crept forwards on all fours, until she reached the spot where the horizontal tunnel ended. Then she pointed her hands to the sky (or at least where the sky was supposed to be) and cleared another tunnel, this time snaking vertically. Exhausted but determined to get out, she cast a levitation spell at herself and quietly floated to the top. As Morgana released her fist, the soiled tunnel collapsed back, forming a solid platform below her again. She used her grimy fingernails to dig a small peephole and look outside. It was still night time– good, she had lost track of time expending so much energy. However, the sky was lightening, and she was running out of time.

Poking her head out of the ground cautiously, Morgana found herself in the valley of a foreign mountainside. The land was covered in tall grass and the air was dry. Hoisting herself out of the muddy hole, she lay on her stomach and listened carefully. Straining her ears, she could hear the chirping of birds in the distance and the sound of running water. As the sun slowly rose in the sky, Morgana followed the gentle gurgling of a stream into a forest. She knelt to the bank and cupped her hands into the shallow stream, splashing the cloudy water onto her face. She washed years of dirt and grime from her pale skin, and rinsed the mud from the rags she called clothing.

In the far off distance, across several farms and a couple of fields, the alarm in Grindelwald's Headquarters sounded. "The prisoner has escaped!" Fortunately, Morgana was of low priority, seeing as she was 'only a weakling, a fool, a stupid Mudblood who couldn't even levitate a feather', so only three of Grindelwald's followers were sent off to find her. Morgana quickly disillusioned herself and shivered as the feeling of ice water trickling down her back tingled against her skin. Not taking any risks, she silently slipped through the grass towards the grove of apple trees nearby. She pressed herself against the bark of the tall tree and slowed her breathing. _Please, don't notice me. I am nothing. I am the bark flaking off the trunk of the trees. I am the air floating around you. I am the ant crawling up the tree. I am nothing. I am nothing…_ Thankfully, the three soldiers rushed by her.

"_Where is she?_" asked one man roughly. He was tall and had a frightening tattoo of a skull that stretched from his ear to his chin. It rippled as he spoke, as if the skull was laughing at her. The other two were unremarkable – one had a bushy ginger beard, whereas the other had a flat, potato-like nose. "_She can't have gotten far_," replied Ginger (as Morgana had no idea what their names were, she decided to call them Ginger, Scarface and Potato Nose). Potato Nose sneered at the others. _Perhaps they didn't get along_, thought Morgana in a random train of thought. She snapped back to reality as Scarface spoke. "_She's just a mudblood_," he said. "_Why are we chasing her anyway_?"

Morgana didn't speak German, so she had no idea what was being spoken between them. Were they deliberately speaking in a foreign language to confuse her? Did they know where she was? She froze as Potato Nose passed right by her. "_She's not here_," he snorted. The three men conversed for a while longer, and to her relief, they left the clearing, arguing all the way. Releasing a breath she didn't even realize she was holding, Morgana waited for a few minutes longer, although to her they felt like hours. Once she was certain the men were gone, Morgana clambered over the stream quickly, maintaining her disillusion, although it tired her greatly.

Over small streams, jumping over ponds, wading through swamps, climbing steep hills and battling the tall grasses, Morgana travelled over the land for weeks. She stopped to rest when the stars were shining high in the sky, and she ate whatever she could find. She usually picked berries from trees (testing it to see if it was poisonous on the occasional rabbit or stray dog) and drank and washed in the rivers. When she found wildlife, she would capture it and eat it, using her magic to summon the animal towards her.

It was about two months before Morgana crossed the border and found an administration building that was not controlled by Grindelwald. She entered the office and was greeted by an alarmed witch pointing her wand at her. She had curly brown hair and freckles spotted across her cheeks. Morgana was ready to fall asleep, and raised her palms to show that she meant no harm. Relieved, the foreign witch lowered her wand and spoke in a strange language to Morgana.

"Sorry, do you speak English?" Morgana bit her lip, worried. If the witch didn't, she was doomed. To her immense relief, the witch nodded. "Yes, I listen, but my English not good." Morgana waved her hand in dismissal, brushing her tangled hair away from her face. She was extremely annoyed as the witch stared with wide eyes at her scar. Morgana snapped her fingers, and the witch drew her gaze back to the young girl. "Language skills don't matter. Can you help me get to London, in England?" The witch _hmmed_ and thumbed through her parchment, before nodding once more. "I help you through Portkey or Floo," she said, much to the bemusement of Morgana. The witch didn't notice her confusion – or perhaps she did and simply mistook it for tiredness. "Err, I'll take the Portkey, then," replied Morgana as confidently as she could.

"Of course," said the witch, grabbing a sheet of worn parchment and picking up her quill. "Name?" Morgana was cautious, and gave an alias. "Clara. Clara Reed," she said, cursing her strange surname, but the witch didn't notice or didn't care. She scribbled the name down. "Why you travel?"

"I'm a Mudblood, escaping from Grindelwald," Morgana replied. The brunette gasped, and much to Morgana's increasing annoyance, her eyes flickered back to her horrible scar. "Do not use word!" she said, her strong accent slipping into her words. "Where you learn that! You spy, for Grindelwald!" Morgana shook her head, extremely confused. "I was captured when I was 10, and the guards always told me that I was a Mudblood." The woman shook her head sadly and Morgana gritted her teeth. She hated sympathy. The witch explained things to her. "We no use that word here. It is rude and very… un-polite. Say Muggleborn."

Morgana nodded, and the witch recorded her information down. Then she turned around and picked up an old shoebox. The tired girl raised an eyebrow as the foreign woman set down the box in front of her. "Immediate portkey. It go to St. Mungo's, London, you need medical help. Take and do not let go." Morgana hesitated, but then grabbed the box.

She felt a pull behind her navel, and was yanked away into a black, spinning tunnel of stars. Morgana felt compressed and squashed into a tiny speck, than spun around in a washing machine. She couldn't breathe, her lungs were stretched out, and her broken, badly healing ribs were snapped again. She collapsed onto a white marble floor and rolled over, ignoring the startled shouts and wishing they would just _shut up_. Morgana's breathing was fast, and her vision soon dissolved into a black nothingness that soothed her worn mind.

Healer Laura Millburn was confused and worried. She had been on her way to the tea room when a strange girl, badly injured, Portkeyed into the lobby, scaring a couple of old ladies who were waiting. The girl had then fallen into unconsciousness, and immediately taken to the John Westfield Ward. She had been in charge of nursing the poor girl back to health.

When she had diagnosed the mysterious young witch, she had been shocked to see that the girl had Dark curse injuries _at least five years old_. That scar on her face was horrifying, and it had traces of Dark magic imbedded into it. Laura had done her best to heal her broken ribs and bones, but after that she had to hand the girl over to the Dark Curses Department. To her, it was terrible that the Dark Curses Department had to have so many Healers as staff, as the war was forcing hundreds of new patients into the wards – more than St. Mungo's was meant to have. And now poor teenagers were being treated for Dark injuries, what was next?

An assistant Healer scurried up to her and handed her a sheet of parchment. "Healer Millburn, this girl has been identified as Morgana Greene. She was due to receive her Hogwarts Invitation letter four years ago, but she never received it. Ms. Greene is a Muggleborn, and the Dark Curses Department have traced the magical signature back to Grindelwald." Laura's eyes grew wide. _The_ _Dark_ _Lord_ _Grindelwald himself_? It seemed life was full of surprises, although she had been working for a long time at St. Mungo's and had seen a lot of strange and terrible things.

"Has Dumbledore been informed?" Professor Albus Dumbledore, her former transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, had came to her a few days ago. He had asked her to inform him whenever any incidents involving Grindelwald occurred. The assistant shook his head and hurried off, evidently to Floo call Albus. As a former student, Laura admired the Professor. He was rumored to be the only one Gellert Grindelwald dared not attack. Sometimes, though, Laura thought the Wizarding World would be better off if they stopped their nasty habit of placing the weight of their world on one person's shoulders.

A couple of minutes later, the eccentric man himself walked over to her. He had a long beard (although Laura thought she saw several white hairs poking out of the auburn mess) and wore long purple robes with… butterflies on them? _Oh well_, Laura sighed, giving up the attempt to understand the mind of the greatest wizard in Britain. "Professor Dumbledore –" The man's eyes twinkled. "Now, Healer Millburn, how many times have I told you to call me Albus?" Laura sighed impatiently. "Fine, _Albus_, we've had a recent patient, a teenage girl. She's called Morgana Greene, and she was found to be tortured by Grindelwald." Dumbledore's eyes stopped twinkling and immediately strolled to the John Westfield Ward. Laura didn't ask how he knew where the Greene girl was located. He would probably answer in some mysterious cryptic way – she wouldn't put it past him to say that his Muggle sweets had been in uneven piles on his desk.

Dumbledore was wise, but sometimes, she really wondered if the man was crazy.

**Now I won't be posting that regularly, since school's coming back. *moans* My updates now will be based on how many of you click that button or review. Let's see if we can get at least 15 people to follow this!**


	8. St Mungo's

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Yet. *laughs evilly***

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**This chapter is to all those who did so - you know who you are. Thank you!**

Morgana was in space.

Well, at least she _felt_ like she was in space.

There was nothing around her, just pure black emptiness. She couldn't feel her hands or her feet – or anything, really. In the background there was a faint buzzing noise (_Ms. Greene, can you hear me?_) and a sort of soothing murmuring. (_Poor girl, having gone through so much…_) In the corner of her eye, she could see small flashes of colour (_Professor, I'm just casting diagnostic spells_), bright neon reds and yellows and greens. Slowly, the background murmuring got louder and she could sort of make out some words. There were two different voices, one deeper than the other.

"Professor… I think she's awakening now…"

"Of course… How is she?"

"…Dark Curses…"

"Oh dear. The war is…"

"…_Grindelwald_…"

With a start, Morgana awoke, fear shooting through her veins. Grindelwald! He was here, he was going to torture her… She jumped up and shot a Stunner at the blurry figure by her bedside, but she immediately fell backwards and let out a muffled cry, as she felt her healing ribs jerk. _No, she mustn't! She mustn't let Grindelwald get to her!_ Morgana struggled at the sudden sticking charm the prison guard had thrown at her and the… bed?

To her surprise, she had landed on a soft cotton mattress. A mattress? She didn't own a mattress. Blinking, Morgana realized that she wasn't in the prison cell anymore – she was in a clean, blindingly white, sterile hospital. The figure at the door was not the prison guard, but a panicked woman – a nurse. And the man she had Stunned was not the blond Dark Lord Grindelwald – he had a long auburn beard and half-moon glasses perched on his long nose. He had pale blue eyes and a surprised look frozen on his face.

Robes – that meant she was in a Wizarding hospital. Thinking back, she remembered going to the Administration… ah yes, she was St. Mungo's Hospital. Meanwhile, the nurse, no, Healer was hurrying towards the fallen man and giving her an incredulous stare. Her silver nametag read _Healer Laura Millburn_, and she wore long white robes. Sewn onto the left hand side of the robe was the magical, animated emblem of St. Mungo's hospital. It depicted a bone and a wand, crossed over each other. Healer Millburn had golden brown hair done up in a professional ponytail, and Morgana judged her to be in her late 20's. The small Healer knelt beside the eccentric man. "Do you know who that is?" she squeaked.

Morgana shook her head mutely. Was she supposed to know who the eccentric man was? "That's _Albus Dumbledore_," said the nurse, and Morgana saw a flash of admiration shine through her blue eyes. Albus Dumbledore? The only one Gellert Grindelwald ever feared? The only one Grindelwald dared not attack? Apparently so.

And she had just Stunned him for no apparent reason.

Oops.

Healer Millburn waved her wand, muttering _Finite Incantatem_ under her breath. The bearded man sprang back to life, but contrary to what Morgana thought he would be like – tall, intimidating, a jaded warrior – he was not angry. Instead, he was beaming at her like a madman. "Ms. Greene, you have incredible reflexes! You are, without a doubt, a powerful, powerful witch. No wonder Gellert captured you…" his voice trailed off as Morgana's eyes turned cold. For someone who was supposed to be well-known, he didn't have a lot of manners. _Grindelwald, when I am through with you, you will wish that you were never born_.

"Of course, I apologize," spoke Professor Dumbledore hastily. Morgana nodded in acceptance, and took a sip of water from the glass that had just appeared next to her. "Now, Ms. Greene, would you be as kind as to explain to an old man what you have been through?" Almost inconspicuously, the old wizard's blue eyes flickered to her horrible scar – she wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been looking for it. Morgana inclined her head, and was surprised to find that her neck did not ache. They must have healed her while she was asleep. Ignoring the fleeting surprise and pleasure, she cleared her throat and began to speak in a hoarse voice.

"My name is Morgana Greene, as you evidently know. I am a Mud- sorry, _Muggleborn_ witch. I was captured by Grindelwald in Muggle London, when I was 10. I have been imprisoned since then, tortured, but I escaped 5 years later. This scar was gifted to me by Grindelwald." Morgana was rather vague about her escape, and she said this all very casually, as she didn't want Dumbledore to question her too closely. _Never reveal the true extent of your powers_, was a valuable lesson she had learnt in her years of captivity. _It could save your live one day._

Albus Dumbledore was in a turmoil of emotions. Shock – the teenage girl had Stunned him, clearly she had plenty of talent, so her story could be true; suspicion – was she lying? Gellert had never been one to let someone escape, although he did sometimes underestimate his opponents; and a slight hint of regret. Should he really have let Gellert go? _Oh, well,_ he thought. _The past is the past. I cannot change it now_… The overwhelming emotion, however, was sadness. _The girl spoke so casually about pain and capture, and that scar on her face… she described it as a gift_. It was terrible at how innocent children had to grow up so quickly. _Ariana…_ he pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

Morgana watched as the conflicting emotions flashed upon the Professor's weary face. This display only lasted for a second – the next moment, the twinkle was back in his bright blue eyes, and a smile was on his lips. "Do you remember anything about your childhood? Before Grindelwald?" he suddenly asked. Morgana narrowed her eyes slightly. "Not really," she said finally, confessing the truth. "I've forgotten most of it, although I've had a couple of flashbacks before." She had only glimpsed and remembered a couple of conversations. One included burning fire. The other included a deep baritone voice, laughing with her.

"What a fascinating story, my dear. I'm so sorry you had to grow up so fast," he said, with a hint of sadness. Morgana didn't like being treated as a fragile child. She was more capable than _that_. Randomly, she wondered how he was involved Grindelwald. What made the Dark Wizard fear this meddling old coot so much? Perhaps she should ask him… no, Albus Dumbledore was an unknown factor in her plans for revenge. If he reacted badly, that would be another powerful enemy made.

The Transfiguration Professor didn't seem to notice her (slightly insulting and conniving) thoughts, and instead started to inform her of the current events. "Ms. Greene, you have been in St. Mungo's for about 3 weeks now. As you have suffered so many Dark injuries, over a long period of time, you shall have to continue your stay here for a month longer or so." Morgana started to protest, but Healer Millburn shot her a stern glare and took over. "Ms. Greene, you _need _the rest. There are so many injuries that have been inflicted on you. The wounds need to heal. Now tell me, are you good at magic?"

Morgana frowned. "Why do you need to know?" she said neutrally. Her tone implied nothing, and her face was carefully blank. Albus Dumbledore noticed this and was instantly reminded of another student. Perhaps they were related? They both had high cheekbones and ebony hair, but Morgana Greene had a slightly lighter aura. Not to mention the Dark magical scar on her face. Healer Millburn did not take offense to the neutral tone, but she bristled slightly. "Miss, the more powerful you are, the faster you heal. I would like to know how long you shall be staying."

The powerful witch tilted her head, wary and defensive. "That eager to get rid of me, hmm? That information is for me to know, and you to find out." Healer Millburn sighed impatiently and started administering healing potions. "Oh well," she said grumpily. She didn't like stubborn children. Morgana cautiously sipped the potions, grimacing as the foul taste sailed down her throat. Professor Dumbledore chuckled at her expression, and she glared at him. Ignoring the old wizard for now, she turned back to Healer Millburn.

"Healer Millburn, are there any healing spells or potions that could rid me of this scar? I didn't originally have it, you see, and I don't like the reminder of Grindelwald…" she trailed off hopefully. The matron looked thoughtful and glanced at the jagged line. "Well, Ms. Greene, your scar has traces of Dark Magic in it. The only potion I know of is the Cicatrix potion, however takes almost a month to brew, and requires great skill to prepare." Morgana nodded and made a note of the potion name. Her thoughts were disturbed by the gentle clearing of the throat, from Dumbledore.

"So, Ms. Greene, I have a proposition for you." Morgana inclined her head carefully, suddenly alert. She didn't want to have any debts on her – she wouldn't be able to pay. Her lips curled over at that thought, but she proceeded cautiously. "Yes?" Ignoring her defensive posture, Professor Dumbledore continued pleasantly. "Seeing as you do not have anywhere to stay, and you do need to fulfill your Wizarding Education, I would like to offer you a place at Hogwarts."

Hogwarts? The school under Dumbledore's protection. It was safe from Grindelwald (_for now, a little voice whispered…_) and he was right – she didn't have anywhere to go. But what would it cost her? "Sir, I'm afraid that I do not have any money to pay for education, but thank you for the offer anyway." Morgana longed to go to Hogwarts already, but it was true. She did not have payment.

Dumbledore smiled reassuring. "Ms. Greene, I'm sure we can come to an agreement. As you have clearly demonstrated by your impressive display of magic, you are extremely powerful. Hogwarts does offer scholarships, after all." Morgana was still doubtful. She hadn't really mingled with other students when she was younger – but she was very manipulative. If she was polite and charming to everyone, and that included teachers _and _students, if she played her cards right… The professor saw some of her doubt and spoke once more. "Hogwarts could also offer you protection from Grindelwald."

That did it. Morgana hated that name, and it was her one weak point. Anything against Grindelwald, she would support wholeheartedly. As for Hogwarts – well, she wanted to learn more magic, she wanted security, and she wanted the _normality_ of a routine. So, in that moment, Morgana made her decision.

"Yes."

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	9. Diagon Alley

**Hello again! Wow, over 1,000 views! Woohoo!**

**Thank you for clicking that button/reviewing, you guys. Since this story has reached 1,000 views I thought I'd do a chapter. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I own the plot though, even if there are some overused cliches in here.**

_One month later…_

Morgana Greene clutched a leather pouch as she walked through the streets of London. She felt nostalgic – she hadn't seen the city for 5 years. The paved roads and the various smells wafting through the air brought back a lot of memories. They were blurry, though. All she could remember was that she had lived in an orphanage and was good friends with a boy. He had ebony hair and she remembered that he had the most startling deep, forest green eyes. Morgana wished she could remember it all, apart from the brief flashes of memory.

She raised a finger and tapped the bricks of Diagon Alley's entrance. Dumbledore had wanted to come with her to Diagon Alley, but she had insisted that she could go by herself. "Sir, I _am _fifteen. I can go by myself." The professor had reluctantly agreed, and given her instructions on going to Diagon Alley, as well as leather pouch full of golden coins. "Now, Ms. Greene, our currency is different to yours. The gold coins are Galleons, the silver ones are Sickles, and the bronze ones are Knuts. You will need these to buy your school equipment, and your wand."

Now, Morgana was strolling down the Alley, amazed at all the wondrous things magic could do. There were floating cauldrons, an Apothecary, a _broomstick_ shop – only things you would find in the Wizarding World. Dozens of witches and wizards scurried around the alley from store to store. She felt slightly out of place, as she was wearing Muggle clothes, and people were staring at her scar. As it was magically induced, she couldn't glamour it away. So, she hurried to Gringotts, and deposited her meager amount of gold into her new vault.

Then Morgana went from shop to shop, buying her school equipment. She was forced to buy second-hand textbooks and equipment – dirty cauldrons, scratched scales, worn inked books. She hated the pitying looks the assistant gave her (this scar was really irritating), and once she had bought everything she needed, she went into the Leaky Cauldron again. "Excuse me," she asked the barkeeper. "May I rent a room for 3 nights?" The man grunted and set down the glass he was polishing. "3 galleons," he grumbled. Morgana reluctantly placed three golden, gleaming coins on the counter, and went upstairs to find a room.

There, at the very end of the corridor, she entered an empty room and set her belongings down. Waving her hand, she tidied the dirty room and set in place several wards. No one was going to steal her precious belongings, not while she could help it. Morgana set out her equipment, and smiled wickedly. With all this magic, it was amazing that no one thought of using it to benefit themselves. _Wizards must have magic to compensate for the loss of common sense_, snickered Morgana, preparing herself to 'freshen up'. She was not exactly doing anything illegal; she did buy her stuff, after all. She was just _modifying_ it. Really, it would be terribly inconvenient if the Aurors came knocking on her door for breaking Wizarding Law.

With a snap of her fingers, her worn cauldron was repaired and as good as new. Her second-hand textbooks were cleansed of all dirty ink. Her patched and frayed robes were stitched together again and washed magically. The only thing she couldn't change were her potions ingredients, but that was merely an inconvenience. Her things now looked brand-new. Now, she looked like one of those rich, well-off purebloods who could afford anything they wanted – but make no mistake, she was not going to give the impression of a spoilt brat.

Wearing her new, expensively decorated robes, Morgana continued down the Alley, attracting slightly envious stares. The assistant who had given her pitying looks earlier on gaped at her. Morgana smirked secretly. Using a trick she had learnt long ago (she couldn't quite remember from when or where), she expanded her magical aura so that others could feel it. They would register her powerful aura in their sub-consciousness, and it demanded respect from everyone. This was how some Muggle politicians gained power – except instead of consciously expanding a magical aura, they used words and appearances to get followers. Most of them, however, were unaware of exactly _why_ people followed them, so they eventually sank out of society's grace. _Not me_, Morgana thought. _I'm not as stupid as that_. She also cast a mild Notice-Me-Not charm on herself – the scar was attracting some _unwanted_ attention.

Morgana continued down the road until she spotted a small shop. It was a Magical Menagerie full of magical familiars. Curious, she stepped inside the store, and was immediately bombarded with squawks, barks and hisses. The room was dimly lit, and was rather hot and crowded. It was filled with small cages. In the corner, there were some skipping rats whom were forced to share their space with a rather grumpy looking ginger cat. Hanging from the ceiling were wooden perches, and dozens of owls were sitting on them. Brown owls, snowy owls, barn owls, almost every kind. At the back of the shop, she could see green and yellow toads croaking on mossy rocks.

Morgana picked her way through the mess of animals to a cooler spot of the magically expanded menagerie, when she heard a quiet hissing. "_Sstupid humanss_," the voice said. "_Isss too hot_." Morgana edged closer to the hissing noise, and found a single glass enclosure in a secluded alcove. Inside the glass box was a beautiful snake. It had a black belly with green diamonds on its back. Its shiny scales reflected the magical candlelight behind it and it looked magnificent. Reading the description on the right, she realized she was a magical snake of an unknown species.

Immediately, Morgana decided to take her. She opened the enclosure and the snake attempted to bite her. Using her lightening fast reflexes, honed by 5 years of Grindelwald hurling curses at her, she picked him up. "_SSSSS! Let go of me, sstupid girl!_" she hissed. "_Sstop sstruggling,_" Morgana hissed back, irritated. The snake stopped immediately and craned its diamond shaped head up at her. "_A sspeaker! Mistressss, are you here to take me away?_" Morgana confirmed the snake's hopes, and the serpent wriggled in pleasure. Happily leaving some gold on the counter, she named her Ada. Disillusioning the snake, she stepped out of the store.

Now, time to get a wand. She didn't think that she really needed one, but she didn't want to attract too much attention either, so she had decided that it was best to get one anyway. Ignoring the wriggling on her arm as Ada settled in, she walked around the alley.

She entered an old shop that smelled of ancient parchment and musky wood. The sign above the door was painted green and gold, and the words read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC._ Morgana rung the rusty bell on the counter. "Excuse me? Mr. Ollivander?" she called out. "Good morning," said a raspy old voice behind her. Ada hissed as Morgana jumped in surprise.

Whirling around, Morgana came face to face with an old man. He had a tall, thin body, white hairs on his head, and creepy silver eyes that seemed like pools of liquid moonlight. "Mr. Ollivander?" she enquired politely. She regained her cool composure and stood up straight. The man smiled mysteriously and inclined his head. "You are a Muggleborn," he said. It was not a question – it was a statement, but Morgana nodded anyway. The man's hand shot out and Morgana tensed as he slowly traced the scar that defiled her features. "The war affects everyone, Ms. Greene. It has only made you stronger." She blinked and frowned in confusion. "Wand arm?" he asked suddenly.

"Left," replied Morgana, discreetly hissing to Ada, who was on her left arm, to move to the other arm. Ada slithered to her right side, slithering around her neck, hissing grumpily but obeying anyway. The serpent knew that Parseltongue was considered a Dark trait, so she helped her mistress keep it hidden. Ollivander nodded, not noticing the snake speech (_or perhaps he did and was not bothered by it_), and a magical tape measure started to measure record random parts of her. Morgana ignored it as it began to measure the width of the space between her eyebrows (_the glabella, a small part of her mind thought_). The old shopkeeper, Ollivander, browsed through the seemingly randomly organized boxes on his shelves.

"Try this one. Willow and dragon heartstring, unyielding, 8 inches." Morgana grasped the wand, but as soon as she did, the old wand maker snatched it out of her hand. "No, no," he muttered. "Rosewood, unicorn hair, springy, 11 inches," he handed another wand to her. It was immediately taken away again. "_Ridiculous old man_," snorted Ada. It sounded very strange – snakes were not exactly created to snort. Ollivander picked up another wand again. "Hmm. Maple, phoenix feather, swishy, 14 inches."

And so on and on the list went. Various wands were given to her, and the pile of discarded wands grew. Morgana began to worry slightly, but Ollivander, on the contrary, was very pleased. "Tricky customer, eh? No worries, we'll find one for you." He went to the very back of the store (which was _quite _far back) and his muffled voice echoed back to her. "Not you. Wouldn't work at all… Hmm, you have a nice texture. And _you_ have a very powerful core…" Morgana frowned, slightly worried about Ollivander's sanity. _He was talking to his own wands, the crazy grandpa._ She tapped her foot impatiently.

Ollivander had returned by now, and his silvery eyes were full of curiosity now. "This wand is a special one, the only one of its kind. Very rare," he informed her, setting the wand down into her palm. At once, Morgana felt a tingly, warm feeling rush up from her arm, filling her up. She felt so powerful. Ada hissed in approval. "_Sserpent sskin_," she told Morgana.

The wand maker was watching her, smiling secretly. "Elder, Runespoor scale, rigid, 12¾ inches. Wand makers almost never use serpent parts in their wands, Ms. Greene. This one," he stroked the wood fondly, "was very hard to construct. But beware, my dear," he said. Morgana looked up and listened intently. Ada stopped wriggling, her beady yellow eyes peering up at the wise but slightly crazy man. "Very little good has ever come out of the wielders of Runespoor scale wands. Great things, yes, but not good things. Use it well."

Morgana smiled genuinely at the man. "I will," she said honestly…

…and then wondered if he said the same thing for every wand he sold.

Ah, sale tactics.

**Yeah, it's a filler chapter. Ada the snake is introduced now, and she won't exactly be a major character, but she'll feature in occasionally. Thank you, all of you who are reading this right now. Special thanks to:**

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	10. Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.**

**Thank you for your reviews! Now, just wondering, does Morgana seem a bit Mary-Sueish to you? I'm trying to not have any of those in this story, but I'd just like some feedback or suggestions. Do review, but for now, enjoy the chapter! **

**WARNING: Insults to different Hogwarts Houses here. Don't kill me for it - it's simply how Morgana thinks.**

Morgana was still unused to her newfound freedom, and was celebrating by casting every harmful spell she knew on a Conjured dummy. Curiously, the mannequin's facial features looked very much alike to a certain Dark Lord's. Ada often hissed with approval, but she usually spent her time snoozing. Morgana had found that, armed with a wand, it became easier to cast spells, and took less energy than when she did it wandlessly. Soon, however, exactly three days after Morgana purchased her wand, it was time for her to enter Hogwarts.

A couple of days ago, on the day after she finished getting her equipment, a round cheerful man had popped by to test her. He had blond, thinning hair and a walrus mustache perched upon his upper lip. He introduced himself as Professor Slughorn. "I'm the Potions Professor at Hogwarts, and I'm here to test your abilities, Ms. Greene. Albus – that's Professor Dumbledore to you – is busy today, but he informed me that you seem to have _quite_ the talent for magic." His amber eyes glowed with an emotion that Morgana identified as greed. Slughorn gestured towards her scar casually, eyes raking over the jagged black cracks. "I also hear you're planning to brew the Cicatrix Potion to remove your scar? It's a very complex potion, my dear, but I can see why you would want to do so…"

As the overbearing man prattled on, she read between the lines and realized that he _collected_ students. Yes, his job as the Head of Slytherin suited him very well.

Morgana had read Hogwarts: A History by now, and she knew about the Four Houses. There was Gryffindor, for the brave (and reckless, if her instincts were correct); Hufflepuff, for the loyal (Morgana knew that too many people underestimated Hufflepuffs, and made a note to befriend some – they would make good minions); Ravenclaw, for the smart (and probably the overly stressed bookworms); and Slytherin, for the ambitious (probably backstabbing, too).

Morgana did not think she would end up in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, for obvious reasons. Ravenclaw and Slytherin were her best choice – she loved information, but she often used that information to gain an advantage over others. However, reading through the last chapter of _Hogwarts: A History_, her mind was made up. The chapter, _House Rivalry_, stated that Slytherins and Gryffindors did not get along, simply because the former were blood-purists, and the Gryffindors disagreed. As Morgana absolutely _hated_ Grindelwald and his pureblood beliefs, she decided to try to get into Ravenclaw. A Muggleborn like her would never be welcome in the 'House of the Pure' anyway.

Drawing her mind back to Slughorn, she performed all his tasks casually, transfiguring parchment into canaries, charming Slughorn with a Cheering Charm, and so on. With every wave of her wand, the Potions Professor's smile grew bigger and bigger. When she finally cast the last spell effortlessly, he laughed merrily. "Oho, Morgana! You are quite the all-rounder, aren't you? Hogwarts would be pleased to have you inside our castle walls," he spoke, smiling. "You have all the skills necessary for your seventh year, Ms. Greene. However, the OWLs are an important part of your education, so I'm afraid we will have to place you into fifth year." Morgana nodded and saw the Professor off.

Now, she was Flooing into the Headmaster's Office using his personal fireplace. Her belongings would be Apparated separately – that included Ada. She hadn't been too happy with that, but Morgana had promised her extra treats. The Headmaster was an elderly man called Armando Dippet. He had round, awkward glasses and wrinkled skin. His upper lip sported a thin white mustache that looked like a hairy caterpillar, and he wore plain black robes. He didn't look impressive, or sound like a Headmaster at all. He hemmed and hawed while speaking, frantically searching through his cluttered desktop for papers while trying not to look hassled. Morgana didn't think much of him, and neither did Professor Dumbledore, standing in the corner tapping his foot impatiently.

"Uh, Ms. Blue – no, sorry, Greene – well first of all let me welcome you to Hogwarts. Err, yes, so now we'll sort you privately. It's one month before the students come back from the holidays, and we thought you might like to get some time to… ah, adjust. So, um, let's get the Sorting Hat…" He slipped off his dragon-hide leather chair and fumbled about on the disorganized shelves for the 'Sorting Hat'. Morgana had no idea _what_ the Sorting Hat was, but she assumed that it was a magical Hat that would Sort her. After all, wizards seemed to come up with some very blunt and obvious names – _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_, the _Daily Prophet_… and the Sorting Hat. Out of the dusty shelf came a worn old hat that looked like it had been trampled on in the rain and mud.

Following Dumbledore's request, she sat on the stool as Dippet placed the hat over her head. The brim almost slipped down her eyes (it was a _very_ big hat) and she heard a deep voice echo within her mind. **Ah, you're a bit too old to be a first-year, but I haven't sorted you yet. Hello, Morgana Greene. **Morgana fought the initial urge to jump at a voice talking inside her head, but she sat stiffly on the stool. Absently, she wondered if all magical hats could read minds. The hat upon her head chuckled and Morgana scowled. _Sort me into Ravenclaw please_, she told the Hat. **Ravenclaw? But, my dear, you would make a wonderful Slytherin! You are exactly what Salazar was looking for. **_They are pureblood supremacists, and I am a Muggleborn. I would never fit in_, Morgana argued.

**True. But then, if you are so eager to find friendliness, perhaps I should send you to Hufflepuff! **Morgana gave the Hat a hard, mental slap, and the fabric upon her head winced. Again, Morgana wondered if she could send mental slaps to humans. That would make life so much more convenient. _Sort me into Hufflepuff and I will set you on fire and leave you to the Thestrals to feast upon._ The hat laughed inside her head. **Alright, Ms. Greene. But are you sure you wouldn't want Slytherin? You have the ambition and determination of a Slytherin, but you also have the intelligence and resourcefulness of a Ravenclaw. You would do well in both Houses. This is your choice. **Morgana nodded firmly (mentally, of course). Inside, however, she was starting to have some doubts. _I do want to do well in life. I do have plenty of Slytherin characteristics, but I treasure intelligence above all else. Plus, they would never accept me._ With that last thought, the Hat coughed politely.

**I believe I know where to sort you, then.** Holding her breath, Morgana waited for what seemed like an eternity. The hat shouted a single word across the office. "**SLYHTERIN!" **Morgana gaped at the hat. "Hey! You said you would…" she spluttered as she realized the hat had never said that it would sort her in Ravenclaw. Dippet and Dumbledore looked at her, Dippet with a confused look and Dumbledore with a reassuring look. "Don't worry," he said in a soothing tone. "Slytherin is a perfectly respectable house, Ms. Greene…" Judging by the tone of his voice, Dumbledore did not agree with his own words. Morgana choked on the irony. The Leader of the Light, reassuring a Slytherin, who also happened to be Muggleborn.

The sorting hat _giggled_. Giggled! Morgana gave a fierce frown and the piece of headwear grinned. **"Joking, silly. RAVENCLAW!**" Dumbledore, although slightly put out, politely applauded as Dippet placed the Hat back in its dusty spot, still confused. "An excellent House," the Transfiguration Professor said, eyes twinkling. "I must remind the Hat not to joke around again, although the last time Alvin did that was about fifty years ago." Morgana spluttered again. The hat was called _Alvin_? Oh, come on!

Dumbledore turned around at the bumbling old man. "Headmaster?" Dippet blinked owlishly and hurried to force a smile on his face. "Yes, yes, well done, Ms. Blue. Now, Albus, could you lead the girl to her House dormitory?" The scatterbrained man trailed off as Dumbledore nodded. The bearded professor opened the door and clambered down the staircase, Morgana following closely behind.

"First off, Ms. Greene, welcome to Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, talking as he strode along the twisting corridors of the castle. "Ravenclaw, the House you have been sorted in, is the House for the intelligent and quick-witted. Your house colors are blue and bronze, and your House founder is Rowena Ravenclaw. As you have no doubt read _Hogwarts: A History_ from cover to cover, I shall leave you now at your common room." Dumbledore showed Morgana to a tall tower with a spiraling staircase. At the top of the tower was a simple wooden door and a brass knocker. As Dumbledore left her, Morgana hesitantly rapped the knocker.

To her surprise (she was getting surprised a lot now, she'd have to practice being stoic more often) the eagle knocker came to life. It's beak clacked together and words flowed from its mouth, although no bird should have the ability to speak, as they didn't have teeth. "_If you have it, you want to share it. If you share it, you don't have it. What is it?" _

Morgana gaped, then remembered to be stoic and closed her open mouth. A riddle was the password? What sort of security system was that? Anyone with a brain cell could enter!

Morgana told the knocker so, but it didn't respond. Apparently it was only charmed to ask riddles, not answer questions nor listen to _constructive criticism_. Perhaps it only answered to teachers. She'd have to investigate. Answering the riddle, she quickly started to unravel her train of thought, leaving her more confused than ever. _The answer is a secret. So, does that mean I don't have it anymore? It being the password or a secret? Wait, what? The password is a secret. But I just shared it. So is it still a secret? But secrets can be shared too, and that doesn't change reality. Or maybe it does. If a secret is the password, then what's a secret? Or is the secret to a secret a secret? What am I even talking about… Am I going insane?_

Deciding not to answer that last question, Morgana stepped through the wooden door that had just opened, making a note to herself to try to make the knocker's riddles better. Or more of a secret. She shut the door behind her and grinned at her new surroundings.

The Ravenclaw Common Room was a large circular room with two bronze staircases twisting their way upwards on the opposite sides of the tower. The floor was covered in soft, midnight blue carpet, and there were magnificent wide windows around the room. They were draped with blue and bronze silk, and the wide domed ceiling was painted with stars. The back of the common room was occupied by large bookcases that towered over Morgana. She passed the beautiful statue of Rowena Ravenclaw and clambered up the staircase leading to the girls' dorms.

Inside the large room were four, equally large poster beds, decorated in blue and bronze, of course. Morgana chose the one closest to the window, which also happened to be the one closest to the bathroom. She took out her trunk from her pocket, un-shrunk it, and lugged it to the front of the bed. Taking out her wand, she cast complex wards on her bed and belongings, including a nasty curse that made any intruders lose their eyesight for a week, before leaving the dorms to explore Hogwarts.

After a month, Morgana was used the castle, with it's constant changing staircases and secret passageways. They happened to be very good for avoiding Professor Slughorn, who seemed to be on a quest to bring Morgana to his club. The 'Slug Club' as Slughorn had pompously informed Morgana, was a society dedicated to brilliant protégés (not to mention people with connections). When he had magnanimously tried to invite her, she had politely declined. Now, however, he was _still_ chasing her down, so Morgana had to take drastic action, leaping behind tapestries and ducking into alcoves.

Morgana had come to love Hogwarts in the short amount of time she had come to the castle. It seemed to be alive, and was full of constant surprises. She spent her days wandering the grounds and discovering passages. She found one that led from the potions cabinet to the Slytherin Common Room, one behind a statue of a humpbacked witch that went to Hogsmeade, one that curiously led from the Charms classroom to a broom closet, and many more.

However, the most interesting thing about Hogwarts was the mysterious room on the seventh floor. The Come and Go room. Morgana had wanted to know more about Hogwarts, and had gone down to the kitchens to ask the House Elves. The small creatures were cautious of her at first, but when she casually complimented the food they cooked, they suddenly became very forthcoming. One little elf, who was called Tibby, had told her about the room. "We is calling it the Come and Go Room, miss. It is at the seventh floor and we is using it for whatever we is wanting, miss." This had perked Morgana's interest. "It turns into whatever you want?" The elf nodded eagerly as she thanked it. Morgana was quite glad of the room – it had provided her with plenty of reading material and school equipment.

It was also the perfect place to begin brewing the Cicatrix Potion. Morgana had already set up her equipment and her brewing stand, and she had spent her valuable gold on several ingredients. Thankfully, Slughorn was in the know about her potion and gave her access to the Potions Cupboard. The Cicatrix was a very precise potion, requiring specific amounts of ingredients to be added in exactly 20 seconds after each other. Morgana had carried out the first part of the potion, and all she needed to do now was wait for it to mature. She couldn't wait to get rid of this scar – she had never fully appreciated how easy it was to influence people with good looks.

Now, exactly 28 days later, it was time for the school to open its gates once more.

Dippet had sent her King's Cross Station, to board the Hogwarts Express. "It'll be good for you to make some friends, Ms. Blue," he said dismissively. "It's tradition," he added. The headmaster was adamant in _following tradition_, so in his book that was reason enough. Morgana had no choice but to Portkey into London and board the scarlet engine among the mass of students. Making her way along the train as it gained speed, Morgana finally found an empty compartment and sat down.

Soon after, the door slid open once more, and Hufflepuff boy came in, pulling his trunk behind him. "Oh," he said, surprised. "No one ever uses this compartment except me and Fiona. But," the boy added quickly. His eyes wandered over her scar and Morgana groaned mentally. Once she had her old looks back, she would be able to influence people a lot more. "It's alright. You're welcome to stay." Morgana raised an eyebrow, but the Ravenclaw didn't notice. _How rude_, she thought. _Saying 'you're welcome to stay' when I was here first_. The boy heaved his large trunk onto the racks and sat down. He smiled hesitantly. "So, hello. Uh, my name's Robert. Robert Boot." Morgana nodded. "Morgana Greene."

They sat there in awkward silence, until the door slid open again. A young girl, a Ravenclaw this time, bounced in. "Hello, Rob!" she said brightly. "And hello to you too. I don't think we've met. I'm Fiona Boot, this guy's sister. It's nice to meet you. Mummy says its rude not to talk to people in the same room but its also bad if you talk to strangers. So, … Oh how rude of me, I've forgotten your name! What did you say it was?" Morgana blinked – the girl had said all of this in one short breath. "My name's Morgana Greene. Pleasure to meet you," she said neutrally.

"You're a Ravenclaw as well! What's that scar on your face? Looks like it hurts a lot, did you get cursed on your first day? Oh, sorry, it's rather rude of me to ask – you don't have to answer if you don't want to! But it's nice to meet you, Morgana – can I call you Morgana? Ms. Greene sounds so formal, you know," squealed Fiona. Morgana groaned internally as the brunette prattled on, preferring to observe her surroundings. The Hufflepuff, Robert, had a small button nose and messy mousy brown hair. He was evidently very shy. His sister, Fiona, was the complete opposite. She had the same dull green eyes and brown hair, but her personality was outgoing and friendly. Really, she was amazed that the girl was not in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. The scales rubbing on her arm told her that Ada was annoyed as well. Morgana smirked as a sudden idea sprang to mind.

Noisily, she unwrapped Ada from her arm. Fiona froze and shut her mouth with an audible clack. Robert seemed less affected, but he still had a look of fear on his pale face. "A- a snake!" squeaked Fiona. Her tanned skin grew pale and her freckles were suddenly very visible. She edged away from Morgana. Ada hissed at her happily and bared her fangs. The girl leapt away from the beautiful, deadly snake.

Morgana widened her eyes innocently. "Oh, I'm sorry," she purred. "Do snakes scare you? I shouldn't have brought her out then, my apologies. This is Ada – she's a poisonous, magical snake. Her venom can kill in seconds." If possible, Fiona's face grew paler and she stammered. "I… It's al-alright. I- I'm just scared of s-snakes. Ah…" The Boot siblings ran out of the compartment, lugging their trunks behind them. Ada hissed happily, watching them go. "_You should have cursed her the minute she stepped in_," Morgana mused. "_No, no need to scare people the first moment you meet them,"_ replied Ada. "_You need to make connections."_ Morgana chuckled dryly. "_Know-it-all reptile,"_ she grinned. Ada stuck her pointed tongue out her and slithered back into the bag, insulted. Morgana smirked unrepentantly.

Peace and quiet at last.

**Making Morgana evil is really fun. *cackles madly* Review please, next chapter is up when 30 people click the button/review. See you then. :)**

_Next time:_

_George turned and grinned at Fiona. "Someone's got a crush," he teased. Fiona's face was a splendid tomato red and protested. "Hey! It might be true, but almost every girl here has a crush on him! I mean, who wouldn't!" George grimaced but sighed. "It's true," he told Morgana. "The guy has perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect behaviour – I'm not kidding!" he said at her skeptical face. "All the girls just adore Tom Riddle."_


	11. Blue or Greene

**Disclaimer: I'm not Rowling - I don't own Harry Potter.**

**So Morgana is finally at Hogwarts! Now some of you thought she would get into Slytherin, but Morgana went into Ravenclaw, a) because she hates prejudice, and therefore hates pure-blood supporters, aka. Slytherins, and b) plot reasons. Hopefully this chapter explains a bit more. I did toy with the idea of putting Morgana into Slytherin (I am a Slytherin myself! #HousePride) but she'd probably get poisoned on the first night there. I don't like to kill my characters. Anyway, with that out of the way, on with the story!**

As Morgana got off the scarlet engine, she attracted some curious stares. For one, she could see the Thestrals, pulling the carriages. The bony, skeletal horses neighed and _flocked around her_, whinnying and sniffing her. Morgana petted them gently, and tried to forget the time she had seen someone die. It had been in Grindelwald's prison – an old man had been tortured to insanity and finally died. She had been forced to watch in horror and terror, but she couldn't deny the glint of relief in the man's eyes as he drifted into an eternal sleep.

Climbing into one of the last carriages left behind, she was forced to share with two strangers in her year. They were Slytherins, judging by the green and silver ties around their collars. One of them, a boy, had dark hair, silver eyes and a crooked nose; the other was a female, with pale blue eyes and expensive perfume. The two seemed well acquainted (and well-off), and they chattered on about trivial things, completely ignoring Morgana. She chose to sit in silence, but she couldn't help but overhear their conversation. She realized the girl was called Olive, and the boy was called Cygnus. They were both quite rude – Olive was laughing about someone called 'Myrtle' and her glasses, and Cygnus was grunting from time to time, complaining about Dippet and Dumbledore and the Mudbloods. Morgana clenched her fist at the foul word, and Ada, still curled around her arm, hissed in anger.

"So I told her, "Your glasses make you look like a fat, slobbering flobberworm! And Myrtle, the stupid little nerd, started crying!" Olive grinned wickedly. Cygnus (she still didn't know their last names!) yawned, bored. "Yeah, Olive, you've told everyone 'bout a thousand times about Moaning Myrtle and her glasses. Don't you ever get sick of it?" Olive stuck her tongue out him. "Well, she's a Mudblood. She deserves it." The boy nodded. "This school is lettin' all types of 'em in. Rubbish, I fink." Olive snorted exaggeratedly, making a sort of piggish noise. "Dippet's going soft. Can't believe he was ever a _Slytherin_. Mudbloods don't deserve to have an _education_, the savages. Everyone knows that, even the Mudbloods themselves. Everyone – I bet even Miss. Stupid and Quiet – and Ugly too - over there knows it."

"Yeah, well what would you know?" sneered Cygnus, turning to face Morgana. "Don't think we didn't notice ya, keeping silent all the way through. You mute or somefink?" The girl screeched with laughter, reminding Morgana of someone. _Mrs. Cole laughed drunkenly as she sipped her sherry…_ Blinking, she found that Olive was wrinkling her nose at her. "Well?" the clearly spoilt girl demanded. Morgana coolly responded. "I'm not mute," she said. Olive mimicked her voice. "I'm not mute," she said in a high false voice, then cackling with laughter. Cygnus rolled his eyes in disgust, a clear _what-am-I-doing-with-these-two-idiots_ look on his face. Morgana mirrored his expression. Olive stopped cackling just long enough to sneer. "No, you're not mute. You're ugly and disgusting. Bet your mother was sorry she ever had you." Ada burrowed herself deeper into Morgana's arm as the horrible laughter continued. Morgana wished she could whack the annoying and rude Slytherin in the face. _I'd be improving her looks if I did that._

"You _are_ a Mudblood, aren't you?" sneered Cygnus, a revolted look on his face. She glared at him as he continued, disgusted. "Course you are, only Mudbloods would be so stupid. Did I mention ugly?" Olive kept screeching and Morgana finally sent a well-placed _silencio_ at her. She smirked triumphantly as the girl's face turned red with the effort to talk. The rich boy bared his teeth at her, like a feral animal. Morgana blinked – was the boy a dog in disguise? "Do you know who we are?" bellowed Cygnus, pointing a bony finger at her. "We are _purebloods_! How dare you silence a pureblood, and in front of the heir to the Most Ancient And Noble House of _Lestrange_ as well!" Ah. So that was his surname.

The carriage jolted to a stop. They were at the gates of Hogwarts. Morgana hopped out the door, ignoring Lestrange's spluttering protests. She walked up to the Great Hall with the rest of the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boy dragging Olive to a group of Slytherins, still Silenced. Smirking, she strode forwards and sat at the Ravenclaw table. The surrounding students decked out in blue and bronze blinked at her, surprised, but most of them were too shy to introduce themselves. They simply blinked at her scar curiously, muttered a greeting, and went back to their textbooks. However, to her immense dissatisfaction, Fiona sat next to her, still chattering.

Despite Dippet's best efforts, the Great Hall refused to quiet down, until Dumbledore sent a burst of red and gold sparks into the air. Morgana snorted quietly at the blatant favoritism for Gryffindor House. Dumbledore may be on the so called Light Side, but he really was biased. Dippet stood on the pedestal and began his lengthy speech. "So, welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Um, so now we have an announcement…" Tuning out his droning voice, Morgana wondered how a man like Dippet could become Headmaster. As her thoughts wandered, Dippet continued rambling on, finally ending his speech five minutes later.

"So. Hogwarts, I'd like to, uh, welcome a new student of ours. She will be entering her… fourth – no, fifth year," he said. The students' interest was spiked, and Morgana suddenly had a worrying thought. _What if he introduces me as Ms. Blue! Don't you dare, you old coot…_ However, Dippet seemed to be on the verge of doing exactly that. _Oh great._ Morgana thought frantically and considered hurling a Stunner at the old man – but the trouble was, she might kill him. And as much as Morgana hated listening to annoying people, she would never purposely kill them. Dippet opened his mouth, and Morgana panicked.

Whispering the first curse that came into her mind, she fingered her wand and discreetly shot a mild Tongue-Tying Curse at Dippet. It missed, and hit the unsuspecting Slughorn, while Dippet continued to talk. "Um, it is my pleasure to introduce – mmmff!" Morgana had flicked her wand at Dippet again, and she succeeded this time. He stopped in the middle of his speech. He opened his mouth in surprise, revealing a red tongue tied up in a knot. The students began snickering. "Ahpbush! Fhelp!" the elderly Headmaster cried. The red-faced Potions Professor said the same thing, in the same muffled way.

Albus Dumbledore quickly took over the speech, eyes twinkling madly. "Excuse me, the headmaster is in a bit of a predicament," he said, causing the Gryffindors to laugh loudly, and the Slytherins to sneer at the raucous behavior. "As he was saying, this new student shall be in her fifth year. Her name is Ms. Greene, and she is in Ravenclaw."

Morgana quickly stood up as the student body clapped politely. She flushed as she heard a gang of red and yellow laughing. "She looks like a Bludger got her in the nose," one of them snickered. On the right, several Slytherins were muttering the same thing, and the Hufflepuffs were looking at her with sympathy. Hopefully no one noticed her cursing the Headmaster (even if he did deserve it). She sat down again as Dumbledore continued. "I hope you will all welcome her to Hogwarts and help her settle in. Now, let the feast begin!"

The golden plates on the tables filled up with delicious food. The Ravenclaws began to eat quietly, some reading at the table, some talking. As Morgana piled her plate with a delicious leg of lamb, Fiona continued to talk. "So, Morgana," she said, spooning a heavy helping of pudding (_Already? Dinner just started!_) onto her dish. "Welcome to Ravenclaw! Um, you don't still have that snake with you, do you?" Morgana smiled politely and shook her head. Ada, who was actually curled around her forearm, squeezed tightly in annoyance, but Morgana _did _need more information. Fiona relaxed and grinned.

"Fiona, could you explain to me about the groups here? Anyone I should look out for?" asked Morgana, a 'sincere' smile on her face. Fiona smiled brightly. "Yeah. So the Gryffindors are a noisy bunch and they're mostly alright. Over there, the tall boys with the bright red hair – that's Matthew Weasley and Ignatius Prewett. They're the resident pranksters and the best of friends. The messy black haired boy is Charlus Potter, the Captain and Seeker for Gryffindor. The students who look like bumblebees are the Puffs. Hufflepuffs aren't very smart, but they are great friends and throw awesome parties. Now, the sneering people in silver and green are Slytherins. The Snakes are mostly okay, except the bigots who believe in blood purism." Morgana hid her disgust as she nodded. She pointed at Lestrange and Olive. "What about them? I met them on the carriages and they were quite rude."

Fiona looked sympathetically at her. "You're muggleborn, aren't you?" Morgana nodded – it was clear that the girl did not approve of blood purism either, even if her surname was pureblooded. Fiona sighed. "That's Cygnus Lestrange and Olive Hornby. The group they're with are the ones who are pureblood fanatics. The Blacks, the Malfoys… you know. They're all so _mean_, except for the tall, handsome bloke over there." Here, Morgana noted amusedly, Fiona blushed.

Another Ravenclaw entered the conversation. "Hi," he said, sticking out a hand, which Morgana cautiously shook. "Name's George Macmillan." Morgana nodded and was pleased to see that he did not pay any attention to her scar. He wasn't that nice looking either, she thought absently, but he was alright. Then she snorted. _Look at me now, making my own group of outcasts._ "Morgana Greene," she replied. George turned and grinned at Fiona, who was gazing dreamily at the Slytherin. His back was turned to them, and Morgana couldn't see what was so appealing about silver and green robes draped over a tall body.

George chuckled at the brunette. "Someone's got a crush, eh?" he teased. Fiona's face was a splendid tomato red and protested. "Hey! It _might_ be true, but almost every girl here has a crush on him! I mean, who wouldn't!"

George grimaced but sighed. "It's true," he told Morgana. "The guy has perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect behaviour – I'm not kidding!" he said at her skeptical face. "It's like he was born perfect. The perfect Prefect too. All the girls just _adore_ Tom Riddle."

Morgana blinked in shock as memories rushed back into her head. _A dark-haired boy with beautiful green eyes smirked at her… "Wake up!" Warm hands on her cheeks… A boy and a girl leaning against an oak tree, reading… "Hey! That's cheating!" "I don't play fair, you know that."… Deep laughter in the sunshine… Sparks shot out of his long fingers, green and silver sparks… "The boy with hair the colour of the sstarless night."… Billy Stubbs rabbit hanging from the rafters… The gray drab orphanage… WOOL'S ORPHANAGE…_ "Morgana? Morgana! Halloo?"

George snapped his fingers in front of her face. Morgana blinked again and smiled sheepishly at George. "Sorry, zoned out," she said. "What were you saying?" George frowned disapprovingly and Fiona grinned, shoveling mashed potato into her mouth. "Just talking about Riddle over there," she informed Morgana smugly. "You have a crush already?" Morgana just sneered at Fiona, and George began discussing the OWL curriculum with some other sixth year.

At the end of the day, Fiona Boot and George Macmillan weren't too bad.

Tom was bored.

Sure, it was great to be back at Hogwarts, but Hornby's continuous chatter and Black's complaints were enough to give anyone a headache. Dippet was droning on, as usual, until someone shot a Tongue-Tying Curse at the tottering old fool. Tom had to congratulate whoever had done so – the old man couldn't speak a word without stuttering. Next to him, Abraxas Malfoy smirked.

Then Dumbledore came up, and Tom felt a surge of intense hatred. The meddling old coot was the only one who remained suspicious about his clever disguise. Girls swooned over him, boys sought his company, and staff sang praises about him. Utter and complete idiots, the lot of them. Wait… what was this? A new student? Another one to fool then, although the rumor mill might just do that for him. Tom scanned the new girl. Yep, another boring Ravenclaw. He could only see the back of her head, and a few glimpses of her face, but he could tell she wasn't a beauty. Long ebony hair, a flash of blue eyes and pale skin were visible, yes, but so was the horrible scar scratched across her face. It was crimson red and dirty black, a rip upon the canvas of a portrait. He strained to hear her name.

Cygnus snorted loudly next to him, causing Tom to miss the name of the new girl. _Stupid Lestrange. Oh well, I'll find out later. _"What, pray tell, causes you to snort so loudly?" Lestrange's face colored and Alphard Black smirked. Olive Hornby screeched with laughter again. Tom longed to try out a couple of Dark curses on her, just to shut her up. As he ate Hogwarts' delicious food, he found himself glancing at the new girl again. She seemed familiar somehow… Searching for a name, Tom found one, but dismissed it quickly. _Of course she wouldn't be here. She's dead._ He kept her ugly features in mind as well, eager to clear his mind of the painful reminder.

"Why're you staring at _her_?" sniffed Olive, her wide blue eyes filled with faux tears. Tom fought the urge to throw the melodramatic girl off the Astronomy tower and simply smiled back politely. The only reason he allowed her to be around was because of Lestrange and his petty marriage contract. "She's new, isn't she? What's her name?" he asked. Lestrange sneered, his mouth full of pie. "Sheesh jugs a uklee mwudbuhd," he growled. "Hoo aires wot her nhaem essh?" Tom grimaced in disgust, not only at Cygnus' atrocious table manners (honestly, he was supposed to be from a _pureblooded_ family), but also at the fact he himself had been staring at a Mudblood. Olive smiled cruelly. "She's just a stupid, ugly Mudblood," she cackled. Across the hall, Morgana heard her and Fiona grimaced. "Don't go near that lot," the brunette said.

"I won't," said Morgana firmly. Stupid pureblood fanatics – she did want to talk to Tom though (if he even was _her _Tom). Still, she was glad she wasn't in Slytherin, even if she did suit the house wonderfully.

**In case you were wondering, these are Cygnus' words: "She's a Mudblood. Who cares what her name is?" Evil Olive Hornby and Cygnus Lestrange. Here, I'm trying to flesh out Morgana's personality a bit more - finds it harder to perform magic when panicked, slightly insecure, wants to make a good impression... Anyway, thank you all for reading this story! Don't forget to review or follow. Next update will either be when this story reaches 35 followers, or when I'm in a good mood, it's raining and school is cancelled.**


	12. Expecto Patronum

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, my characters, but that's about it.**

**Thank you for your reviews! Especially to all those people who clicked that button up there. In this chapter, I'm trying to get cunning plot lines to overcome any Mary-Sueness. **

Morgana Greene was welcomed into Ravenclaw with open arms. Ravenclaws were not as prejudiced against ugliness and muggleborns as the other Houses. She was very intelligent and helpful, and soon the younger years flocked to her for help. Morgana wouldn't usually help the little squirts, but she had to keep up appearances, and to her great surprise she found that she enjoyed tutoring others. They weren't stupid or slow (_they were Ravenclaws_, _so of course they weren't_) so they could keep up pretty well. The small first-years didn't get scared either when she started criticizing them heavily; they simply accepted the snide remarks and mouthed back. The juniors could be really impertinent when they wanted to be.

To the professors, she was a model student. Slughorn was especially proud of her, _still_ trying to persuade her to join the Slug Club. (George was especially amused at his antics, as Morgana was forced to take secret passageways to Potions Class, where he wouldn't dare postpone a lesson for a student. After lessons, she would have to flee the room before the disappointed Potion Master could even call her name.) Professor Merrythought, the DADA teacher, was also quite pleased with her progress. The staff started comparing her to Tom Riddle, who Morgana was very curious about. He shared the same name as her childhood friend (and she didn't know anyone else called Riddle). How much of a coincidence was that? She wanted to talk to him, but he hung around those pureblooded bigots all the time. Morgana couldn't get close without Hornby cackling Mudblood and Riddle laughing along. Had Tom changed? Did he not recognize her? She wouldn't really be surprised – it had been 5 years, after all. Not mention the _stupid_ scar had disfigured her once pretty features.

She shared a dorm with Fiona Boot, Megan Brocklehurst, and Stella Lovegood. Fiona was, well, Fiona; Megan was quiet but stressed out about everything; and Stella had a sort of dreamy personality. The three knew each other well from their previous five years, so sometimes, when they laughed at inside jokes, Morgana felt a little left out. However, she was already used to it and brushed it off. One morning, Fiona smiled at Morgana and beckoned her over. "Morgana? Do you want to come with us to see a Quidditch match? You know, the Wizarding sport. Robert has a friend in Hufflepuff who got tickets to the Scotland-Wales match on Saturday." Morgana shook her head and declined politely, all the while thinking: _What the hell is Quidditch?_

It had been a couple of weeks into the school year, and Thursday afternoon was Morgana's second lesson with the Slytherins, DADA. Previously, they had only been reviewing defensive spells – piece of cake. The classroom had been divided in two, Ravenclaws on the left and Slytherins on the right. Tom Riddle had been there, answering questions, but then so had Morgana. The class had turned into a battle of who could answer the most questions, with equal support on both sides. Now, today it was a physical lesson.

Merrythought had old greying hair done up in a tight bun and loose fitting black robes. She was very, very old and rumor had it that she had taught _Dumbledore_ when he was a student. She strode into the classroom and banished the desks. "Now, class, we are going to be casting a very advanced spell today," she said loudly, over the excited babble that broke out. She paused for dramatic effect, and pronounced her words carefully. "We will be casting the Patronus Charm." Morgana perked up – this was an interesting spell indeed. As Merrythought explained the charm in detail, asking questions and handing out House points like candy, Morgana battled Riddle for them.

"Who can tell me what the Patronus Charm does?" Two hands shot up. The elderly woman beamed and chose Riddle, who flashed a smug smirk at Morgana.

"The Patronus Charm will cast a Patronus, which can appear as simply white vapour, or in more advanced casters, as a silvery-white animal shape. The Patronus Charm repels Dementors and can also cheer people up," spoke Riddle smoothly. Merrythought nodded, smiling. "A point to Slytherin for a text-book worthy answer." Morgana gritted her teeth as the Slytherins smirked at her. "Who knows what the incantation is?" Her hand shot up.

"Miss Greene?" Morgana smiled sweetly at Riddle who was glaring at her, silently contemplating her._ I wonder how she got that scar. She looks like Morgana_, thought Tom vaguely. He brushed all thoughts of his childhood friend out of his mind, as the Greene girl answered. "Expecto Patronum," she said. The professor nodded and proceeded to describe the wand movement. "_Expecto Patronum_!" Professor Merrythought shouted, and a silver falcon soared out of the end of her wand. The students watched in amazement and delight as the glowing bird flew circles above them, then dissipated. Merrythought smiled and set the students into pairs to practice.

Morgana and Fiona teamed up. The brunette went first. "_Expecto Patronum_!" she cried and swished her wand. A white mist was produced, but nothing more. Her friend, however, was quite happy with her progress already. Morgana cocked her head, intrigued. "What memory did you use?" she asked. Fiona smiled at the thought. "My first time seeing Hogwarts," she replied happily. Morgana frowned, thinking hard.

She didn't have a lot of happy memories. She couldn't even remember what happened when she was six. However, Morgana's lips twitched at the thought of the Tongue-Tied Dippet, the Stunned Dumbledore, the laughter with Tom (_the Tom at the Orphanage, not this Tom. I don't know this Tom…_) and the joy of escaping Grindelwald at last. Closing her eyes, she thought of all those memories combined. She was determined _not_ to fail at her first attempt at casting a Patronus. Glancing around, the classroom was filled with mist – no one had cast a Patronus yet. Not even Riddle, who looked extremely put out.

Smirking, Morgana mashed all her few happy memories together into the overwhelming sense of happiness. Victory, triumph, laughter, joy… all those amazing emotions whirling together made her beam. Fiona stared at the pure joy her friend was showing – Morgana was normally so shielded. The pale girl raised her wand and brought it down through the air. "_Expecto Patronum_!" she chanted. Huge clouds of white mist were billowing into the room now, pouring out her wand. The white clouds grouped together, glowing, forming the shape of a sort of snake, and Morgana felt immense happiness…

…and chagrin as the mist faded. Merrythought, however, thought this was brilliant. "Well _done_, Ms. Greene! Very advanced magic! That, class, was a _non_-corporeal Patronus…" she praised her again, and Riddle gritted his pearly white teeth. Morgana smirked at him, but inside she was quite disappointed. She hadn't managed to cast an actual Patronus yet. But she would continue to try. Fiona grinned at her. "Brilliant! How'd you do that?" Morgana smiled secretly, the effects of her almost-Patronus still shining. "Magic," she replied cheekily. Fiona huffed good-naturedly.

Raising her wand once more, Morgana summoned her happy memories, this time envisioning the misty form of her animal. It had looked like a snake, so she decided to envision Ada, her loyal but snarky familiar, her vast array of comebacks making Morgana chuckle. Her emotions whirling around like a hurricane, with Ada's scaly head in the eye of the storm, she drew her wand and swished downwards. "_Expecto Patronum!_" she intoned, pronunciation perfect. A stronger mist surged out of her wand. Again and again she did this, imagining her memories, flicking her wrist until the joints of her bones ached. After five failed attempts, and Riddle smirking at her, she wondered.

Merrythought had said the Patronus was powered by emotions of happiness. _Did it have to be memories of happy events… or could it be the emotion itself_? Morgana had a small brainwave and suddenly whirled around to Fiona. The brunette blinked in surprise, dropping her raised wand arm. "What is it?" She focused her intense blue eyes on Fiona's sea green ones. "Cast a cheering charm on me," she ordered. Fiona looked at her puzzled. "Why? Is this about the Patronus?" the excited girl bounced around Morgana, making her irritated. "Just cast the damn spell," she snapped. The small Ravenclaw simply grinned at her and swished her wand.

Immediately, Morgana felt euphoric. A wide smile split her face, her eyes sparkled with happiness and she started laughing happily… and slightly insanely. A few Slytherins looked strangely at her, and she almost choked on her own laughter. Fiona rubbed her hands anxiously. "Oh dear," she muttered. "I might have overdone it… oh well." She grabbed the still smiling Morgana by the shoulders and shook her. "Cast the Patronus, Morgana, before the charm wears off." Morgana smiled a bit more, still laughing. However, even if she was giggling like she had been in Azkaban for 12 years, didn't mean she couldn't think logically. Grabbing her wand, she followed the wand movements and chanted the spell. "Expecto Patronum!"

A glowing white serpent burst out of her wand. Fiona cheered, and Morgana grinned triumphantly. However, to her slight disappointment, the happiness was slowly draining away – the cheering charm had worn off, and Morgana's eyes widened as she recognized the snake's distinctive size and red crown. It was a basilisk! She should have known – didn't Ollivander say that her wand was made of Basilisk scale? What would happen if someone looked at it? Almost as if the serpent could hear her, it's eyes flickered open and as Fiona stared into them, she froze, an expression of awe on her face. Merrythought's head snapped around and her mouth formed an odd shape. It seemed to be a mix of pride, praise, horror and fear. Carefully, her weathered gray eyes looked away from the glowing serpent. "A Basilisk!" the old Defense Professor said sharply. Riddle's forest green eyes widened and bored into Morgana's deep blue ones. "Stop the spell," ordered Merrythought hurriedly, as more students were frozen in place by the Basilisk's fearsome stare. As Morgana flicked the end of her wand, the ghostly serpent faded away, and the petrified students came back to life.

"Huh?" murmured Fiona, confused. The others awoke slowly. Merrythought nodded, curious, but beamed at her pupil again. "A corporeal Patronus at your age! Amazing! And a magical creature at that… very interesting side effect indeed, Ms. Greene. I will be sure to inform the staff of this." Morgana groaned internally. Slughorn would be hounding after her again soon. Great.

Merrythought soon dismissed them, telling the class to practice the Patronus Charm as homework. Fiona chuckled. "I think you had better practice as well. Even if you did cast the charm, you still kind of cheated." As Morgana walked down the corridor with Fiona, she felt both triumphant and disgruntled. The very next period, an eager George, who had just come from Potions, congratulated her, while continually informing her that Slughorn was 'delighted with her progress in DADA'. She was not looking forwards to Potions tomorrow.

But the priceless look on Riddle's face, having been beaten, was worth it.

**So here, Tom and Morgana reunite! Tom thinks Morgana is dead and this Greene girl is simply someone else, while Morgana thinks Tom has forgotten her. **

**So here, Tom and Morgana reunite! Tom thinks Morgana is dead and this Greene girl is simply someone else, while Morgana thinks Tom has forgotten her. The reunion will be up soon in a couple of chapters. Again thank you for reading this. However, I've noticed that while this story has lots of views, I don't really get a lot of reviews per chapter. Of course, I'm grateful to those who do review (hi, BlackFeath, C.B. Weasley, Harlz96, and everyone else) but it would make my day if everyone whose read this far could leave a review!**

**My next update will be when the story hits 45 _separate_ people who click that button.**

_Next time:_

_When he went next time, he would question her. Not before then – his 'gang' could not see him display any weakness towards a Mudblood. It would be horribly embarrassing if the Mudblood was not actually Morg… no, if the Mudblood was not actually willing to speak to him. _

_Tom knew he was making excuses, delaying the event, trying not to get his hopes up, but he did not want to face disappointment. Not again._


	13. Quidditch

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Harry Potter.**

**Here's a Quidditch scene for you Quidditch lovers! Thank you all for liking and reading this story - thank you especially for your encouraging reviews. I appreciate them, even if I don't always reply to them. Reunion will be soon, I ****promise. Enjoy!**

True to his word, Professor Slughorn chased her down only _3 hours_ after her Patronus was cast. Personally.

"Ms. Greene!" the Potions Professor huffed and panted, his face bright red after running towards her. Morgana cursed her bad luck – she couldn't run or get away in this crowd without offending him at all. She waved politely and decided to act oblivious. "Hello professor," she said, giving him a dazzling smile. "How are you?" she asked. Slughorn grinned at one of his star pupils. "Very well, thank you for asking," the ex-Slytherin answered. He waved his hand, pleasantries over. "So, Ms. Greene, I'd like to invite you a little club of mine, for star students, of course. You may have heard of it – it's called the Slug Club." At this, the man gave a jolly laugh, sounding a bit like a clown. Morgana groaned mentally, but nodded curiously to Slughorn. She could _not_ afford to lose her position in the Potions Master's good graces – he had some good connections.

Quickly thinking, she let her Slytherin side take over and debated the outcomes. If she joined, she would waste her own precious free time. Morgana wanted to continue practicing her Patronus, until she could cast it effortlessly and without a cheering charm. However, there were some handy people around in the Slug Club, students whose parents were famous and had good connections in the Ministry of Magic. She could use those people, persuade them to become loyal to her, exploit them. She could rise to the top of the Ministry within a few months – perhaps even become Minister of Magic one day.

On the other hand, if she didn't join, she would have more time to herself to study magic and exploit the art itself. Her Patronus would definitely protect her in a fight, her basilisk's terrible stare freezing her opponents to stone. But if she refused, then Slughorn would _keep_ hunting her down to invite her, and she wouldn't get any privileges either. She wouldn't have a chance to meet anyone with connections – or manipulate them. Of course, she would easily get into the Ministry, but right now the social classes were influenced by blood. She was a Muggleborn, so she wouldn't be promoted into a very high position. Only purebloods and halfbloods were part of the Wizengamot or Heads of Departments.

Both options had their pros and cons – but which was better?

As these thoughts passed by in the blink of eye, Morgana made her decision. She smiled sweetly at Slughorn and accepted the invitation enthusiastically. "Oh, thank you very much, Professor! That's very kind of you – I'd be honored to join."_ A little flattery can go a long way_, smirked Morgana, as Slughorn's red cheeks turned redder, and he beamed at her again.

"No need to thank me, my dear," he said merrily. "I look forward to seeing you there!" Morgana grimaced as he waddled down the corridor, his wide berth accidently knocking over a midget first year. Sweet Merlin, she was doomed. However, wasn't Tom Riddle in the Slug Club as well? She wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to him anymore – he didn't like her simply because she was a Muggleborn. They had never talked, except when they were answering questions in class. She had never had personal conversation with him before, so she had no idea whether this Tom Riddle was her Tom Riddle.

As Tom strode down the corridor during his lunch hour, he heard Slughorn's voice and heavy footsteps. Curiously, he turned around and dodged the running blur that was the Potions Professor. "Ms. Greene!" the man hollered, his large feet pounding along the stone floor. Tom frowned – he was the potions professor's favorite student, his star pupil. So why did just run past him without noticing him? His pride slightly injured and ego deflated just a little bit, he crept along the corridor, casually eavesdropping. There, he saw the new girl. Yesterday, he had found out, from Abraxas, that the mysterious new student's name was Greene. Unfortunately, the blond did not know her first name. Once again, he found himself reminded of Morgana Greene, his best friend. The similarities were striking – the same ebony hair, the same ruby red lips… and, oh _Merlin_, the eyes were the exact same unique shade of deep blue. The only thing that was out of place was the horrible scar scrawled across her face.

Morgana Greene was dead, wasn't she? But this girl _moved_ just like her, even _talked _just like her. Slight smirk upon her mouth as she spoke, articulating all her words perfectly, cool composure all throughout the conversation. Tom swallowed – she was _dead_. The man had said her mangled body had been found. Lavina had told him herself, that she had locked Morgana inside. The girl in front of him was familiar, yes, but she had that hideous scar marring her features. Yes, the eyes were the same. Yes, the ebony hair was the same. But the scar was new. Morgana didn't have a scar. _Stop thinking about her_, Tom reprimanded himself angrily. _She's dead. You can't bring the dead back to life. It's impossible_. He should not be thinking about deceased friends – instead he should focus on the Dark Arts. Tom had plans for the Knights of Walpurgis and his own soul that he needed to put into action. The prefect strode silently away from the Potions Professor and the doppelganger of Morgana, but not before he heard that Greene was going to be at the Slug Club's next meeting. His mind whirred.

When he went next time, he would question her. Not before then – his 'gang' could not see him display any weakness towards a Mudblood, not to mention an ugly Mudblood. It would be horribly embarrassing if the Mudblood was not actually Morg… no, if the Mudblood was not actually_ willing to speak to him_.

Tom knew he was making excuses, delaying the event, trying not to get his hopes up, but he did not want to face disappointment. Not again.

As Slughorn left, Morgana sighed in relief, and trooped up to Ravenclaw Tower. Unlike other Houses, Ravenclaws were very organized and united, and it was time for their monthly meeting, with the Prefects/Heads of Ravenclaw presiding over it. At these sorts of meetings, Ravenclaws discussed matters such as winning the House Cup, strategies and tips for studying. Personally, she thought the last was quite dull, but she was going to make a couple of suggestions to improve the House.

As she entered the common room, Morgana saw that the seniors were all seated on the blue couches – juniors, third years and below, didn't need to attend. The room settled down as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team captain, Sam Davies, stood up. Davies was in his sixth year and a seeker, and a good one at that. He had a small, light physique that was perfect for a broom. "Okay, Ravenclaws," he spoke confidently. "Slytherin has been winning the Cup for ages, with Tom Riddle on their side for strategy, and Alphard Black as their Beater. But now," and here he puffed up proudly, "we have a damn good chance of winning. Morgana Greene has been suggesting some great strategies that we'll be using for tomorrow's match." Morgana stood up as the captain sat down, and began her strategy talk with a wicked smirk.

Morgana was good at academics, yes, but she didn't like Quidditch. She would cheer for her team, but she hated riding broomsticks. To her, the idea of whizzing through the air with only_ a wooden shaft _for support was ridiculous. Instead, she was the strategy person, and she was ready to see them win. Fiona had gone to the Scotland-Wales match, and used her Omnioculars to record the game. Morgana had watched the game, eager to find any anomalies that would help Ravenclaw succeed. Their current team wasn't too bad, but they couldn't quite think outside of the box. Using her sharp eyes and keen mind, Morgana finally put her Slytherin skills to use.

She gestured to a magically conjured board. "I have a couple of strategies for the Quidditch team, and I've noticed a couple or irregularities that might help us win, if we take advantage of them. First and foremost, there is the fact that _the snitch's flight pattern is not random_." Protests sounded out, but Davies silenced them, nodding at her to continue. "The snitch will fly in a pattern according to where the seekers are." She had noticed this from the previous Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor match. The Beater, Freddy Smith, scowled. "And what would _you _know? You're just a woman, a girl. I think I'd have noticed a flying pattern, since I've been flying when I was in my 2nd year." Morgana shook her head.

"I might be new," she proclaimed loudly, as murmurs of agreement were heard, "and I might be a girl, but I've compared the statistics of Quidditch Cup tournaments, and reviewed the footage. The snitch does actually fly according to where the seekers are. After all, the creators must have realized that Quidditch would be quite boring and biased, if the Snitch just kept fluttering around one seeker. Plus, there is no actual enchantment to make an object fly in a random pattern – it has to be specific. That's how magic works. Now, if the seekers are in _this _position, the snitch will fly like _this_. Whereas if the seekers are like this, the snitch…" Morgana spoke out, and gradually the Quidditch fanatics realized she was right. Freddy himself recognized one position from a memorable match, when Sam had been underneath him, and soared upwards to grab the Snitch from his left ear. Smiles and smirks flashed from various faces as Morgana discussed even more successful strategies, and at the end, Davies rang out with a whoop. "We're gonna ace this match!" he yelled, and the Quidditch team cheered in approval. Fiona grinned. "You really did do your research, didn't you?" Morgana smirked triumphantly, and Freddy shuddered.

That girl should have been sorted into Slytherin with that evil smile.

The day of the match descended upon Hogwarts amidst plenty of excitement.

Morgana, Fiona and George hurried to the pitch early to get good spots. The team had been talking about strategy late last night, and she was certain that Ravenclaw would crush Slytherin in the game. As the pitch flooded with spectators decked out in blue or green, Morgana could hear the Slytherins laughing. Olive Hornby was particularly loud. The sadistic pureblood was sitting _very_ close to Riddle and preening. "Ooh, Slytherin will definitely win this match, Tom," she crooned. "Especially with your tactics." The golden-brown haired girl leaned closer into the handsome young man's side, fluttering her lashes. Morgana could see a faint look of disgust flash over Tom's – no, Riddle's – face, and sniggered quietly. The announcer, a Gryffindor called John Lupin, bellowed at the students with a _Sonorus _charm.

"Good morning, Hogwarts!" he grinned, his magically amplified voice echoing around the stands. "Welcome to the second Quidditch match of the season: Ravenclaw versus Slytherin!" Loud cheers and boos were shouted, almost overwhelming Lupin's commentary. Both teams strode out onto the field. "For Ravenclaw, we have Captain Davies, Smith, Edgecombe, Gregory, Brocklehurst, Corner and Macmillan!" Morgana cheered loudly as Fiona waved her wand next to her, producing blue and bronze sparks. "And for the Slytherins, we have Captain Crockett, Higgs, Malfoy, Warrington, Bole, Bletchley and Black!" As the Slytherins hooted and shouted their support, the two captains shook hands. To Morgana, their 'friendly handshake' seemed more suited to a funeral than a game.

The referee, Madam Hooch, was a young spirited woman with short black hair and a rough voice. She blew her whistle hard and tossed the balls into the air. The golden snitch was flying off into the distance immediately, and Slytherin was in possession of the Quaffle. "AND THEY ARE OFF!" bellowed Lupin. "Slytherin Chaser Bole grabs the Quaffle and passes to – and Ravenclaw takes the Quaffle! Seems the Claws are on their game today, much better performance than the match against Hufflepuff! Passes to Edgecombe, he's whizzing off to the goal posts – SCORE!" Ravenclaw screamed and cheered as the Slytherins jeered. "The Golden Snitch is nowhere to be seen, although the seekers are on the lookout!"

The Ravenclaws grinned as their master plan was put into place. Davies started flying all around the pitch, staying in random positions then whizzing off to another. "What is Ravenclaw Seeker and Captain doing?" asked Lupin, puzzled. The other houses were confused – was Ravenclaw trying to distract them? "Pay attention!" sneered the Slytherin Captain Crockett. His Seeker growled at him.

Lupin continued. "Two Slytherin Chasers and Beater have surrounded Ravenclaw Chaser Corner! He's flying, but half the team have blocked his way! He's trying to find a way out, but he seems to have a trick up his sleeve. He… drops the Quaffle! He just DROPPED the Quaffle – oh, but Ravenclaw's Chaser _caught it_! Chaser Brocklehurst was underneath Corner when he dropped the Quaffle, and now he's flying to the posts once more! _Ouch_, that must've hurt…" As two Slytherin Chasers and one of their Beaters were all in one spot, Morgana had frantically gestured to their beaters, Gregory and Smith, to whack a Bludger at them. Smith had seen her and swung his bat, hurling the iron ball right at the Chasers and Beaters, and now Slytherin was done by a Beater, and had two injured Chasers.

"And Ravenclaw is winning this match 20 to 0! Looks like we've underestimated them. They are a much stronger team now, with great strategies! But Slytherin has regained possession of the Quaffle, and –" Lupin swore heavily, causing Professor Dumbledore to reprimand him heavily. "Err, sorry Professor… Anyway, Slytherin fouls Ravenclaw! Higgs just pushed Gregory off his broom, but luckily Chaser Macmillan caught him. Captain Davies takes the foul and scores _yet another 10 points_! 30-0 to Ravenclaw." Slytherin jeered half-heartedly. Half their team was gone because of the Chasers and the Beater's stupidity, and Higgs had caused Slytherin to lose another chance at winning. Riddle scowled angrily – his strategies were not working, because the team _was not carrying out_ his strategy. In the adrenaline, they had forgotten their original plan and were now simply playing dirty.

Morgana smirked her plan followed through smoothly. Now, time to go in for the kill. Macmillan and Brocklehurst, the two biggest players in the team (not very big, then) flew around Slytherin's seeker. They slowly forced him into the right hand corner of the pitch and kept him there, as Davies flew into position. The Slytherins were utterly confused – the Claws weren't blocking the Seeker, they were simply moving him into the corner of the pitch. No harm done, right?

Wrong. Ravenclaw's seeker, Captain Davies, waited patiently as the Snitch flew in the predicted pattern. It soared low on the sandy pitch then suddenly pitched upwards – just like Morgana had told them it would. It flew higher and higher, and Davies dived downwards quickly. If he didn't move fast enough, the Snitch would fly away from him. However, the Captain's fast reflexes secured their victory, and he neatly caught the Snitch in his right hand. "RAVENCLAW WINS 40 to 0!" Lupin screamed. Ravenclaw had never really beat Slytherin before, not while Alphard Black was around, and they had certainly never _flattened_ the Snakes. Turns out, while the seeker was catching the snitch, Gregory had managed to score another goal. It was an incredibly quick game – it had only lasted half an hour.

"WE WON THE MATCH!" The house decked in blue and bronze jumped up and down, clapping each other on their backs. Davies grinned goofily, waving at Morgana, who happily returned the gesture. He mouthed a 'thank you' and set off to the locker area with the rest of the euphoric team. Fiona and George beamed at her and hustled her off the common room. "Party in Ravenclaw Tower!" someone shouted, and the normally reserved Ravenclaws cheered loudly. Fiona giggled and winked at Morgana. "Someone's got their eye on you," she teased, pointing at Davies. Morgana blushed. _Curse these stupid hormones_. "It was just a wave, silly," she laughed it off. Fiona wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and sighed. "If you didn't have that scar on your face, the boys would be all over you, you know. I can't wait for that… Cicada potion… to be finished."

Morgana sighed and jabbed the giggling brunette with her elbow, and they headed back to the Tower together for a wild celebration.

**Woohoo! Ravenclaw won the match, and as you can see Morgana does have emotions. Hope you had a bit of a laugh at the 'curse these stupid hormones' part! I know this update is kinda short, and late, but I wouldn't give up on this story now. Next chapter will be when 52 people follow/favourite this.**

_Next chapter:_

_Tom smirked at her and she glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd probably be dead a thousand times over. As it was, he was not going to die, and he wasn't going to die any time soon, if he could help it… _


	14. The Cicatrix Potion

**Disclaimer: Unless you've been living under a rock, I don't own Harry Potter. The wonderful story belongs to JK Rowling.**

**Trying to develop characters here. Excuse me for some bad writing, I have a cold and end of year exams right now. Hope you enjoy.**

Well, that had been a good idea.

Now all the Ravenclaws kind of hated her. That was nice.

After their incredibly drunken night of celebration, they found out that the Slytherins had now spread about nasty rumors about the house of the Wise. Cheaters, they whispered in the corridors. Sneaky playing. Dirty players. Morgana thought that rather hypocritical of them, as Slytherins were renowned as dirty players, but the rest of the house didn't think so. The shy bookworms couldn't cope with the pressure of the snakes bearing down on them, and were quick to blame all their Quidditch problems on her.

Slytherin hated Ravenclaw, because they deflated their egos.

Gryffindor hated Ravenclaw, because they didn't like dirty cheaters.

Hufflepuff hated Ravenclaw, because they appreciated honesty and apparently Ravenclaws didn't have any.

And now Ravenclaw hated Morgana Greene, because she was the one who led the one sided massacre on Slytherin. Not to mention that she was ugly, so she was the perfect scapegoat for all those people who wanted to fit in. Blatantly ignoring the fact that it was in fact partly her fault, Morgana turned away from the hostile stares in the library and fled – no, not fled – strode to the Come and Go room, dedicating her time to the Cicatrix Potion. Right now, the only ones who didn't look at her without glaring was her dear loyal minion Fiona, the constantly oblivious George and eventually Sam.

Sam took quite a while to come around, as he was the Quidditch Captain. In the first few days, he joined the rest of Quidditch team in snubbing Morgana. But eventually, he started talking to her again. Morgana didn't know why, though. She liked to think that it was because of her natural awesomeness… but that didn't seem right. George liked to think that it was because Sam was a great guy, seeing as they were good friends. And Fiona, bless that romantic head of hers, liked to think that it was because Sam had a crush on Morgana.

Morgana simply snorted at Fiona and told her to pull her empty head out of the clouds. Right now, she found this theory very unlikely, as practically the whole school snubbed her and labeled her as an ugly outcast. Bah. Humbug, she scoffed.

Christmas was coming up soon, after all.

* * *

Morgana, George and Fiona paced the blank stretch of stone on the seventh floor. Opposite them, a tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy watched them curiously. Morgana had enlisted George and Fiona's help in making the Cicatrix potion weeks ago, but she had never really needed their assistance before. George wasn't very good at Potions, but he was a incredibly knowledgeable Herbologist, and was able to sneak in some dangerous herbs into the cauldron from the greenhouses. Fiona, on the other hand, wasn't really good at anything, but her parents were Muggle war veterans helping out, so Morgana supposed that counted for something. George and Fiona watched, puzzled, as their friend walked around in circles.

I need a place to brew my Cicatrix Potion.

I need a place to brew my Cicatrix Potion.

I need a place to brew my Cicatrix Potion.

To their amazement, a tall wooden set of double doors appeared in the stone wall, with a picture of the Ravenclaw eagle emblazoned on a brass plate. Morgana gave a theatrical bow. "Welcome to the Come and Go room," she said dryly, enjoying the look of confusion then wonder on their faces. Fiona chuckled. "Fancy," she grinned, tracing the eagle. She pulled open the door and the trio stepped inside a brightly lit room. It was the perfect brewing room – it had glowing lamps hanging from the ceiling, a cabinet filled with potions ingredients on the side, and a large cauldron in the center. There were turquoise fumes billowing from the simmering pot, and the liquid inside was an olive green colour, with golden swirls spiraling around the surface. Next to the brewing stand was the instructions for the Cicatrix Potion, inked onto a sheet of parchment.

George examined the steps closely. "You sure this will work?" Morgana stirred the liquid with a long rod and lowered the flame. "It has to," she said confidently. "Pass the Armadillo Bile, please." Fiona frowned, searching for a jar of thick black goop. She turned around and found one on the table behind her, although she could've sworn that it hadn't been there before. Confused, she handed the jar to Morgana.

George sat down on a comfy armchair that appeared out of the blue. "Neat room," he said, a mischievous smile on his face. Morgana smirked as she measured out three and five eighths of a Bat Spleen. Fiona spooned in the Armadillo Bile. "Will this – this Cicatrix potion – heal your scar completely?" Morgana hummed in confirmation. "All gone?" said Fiona in an astonished tone. "I can't really picture you without your scar, you know! I mean, no offense, but it does make you look like a Muggle car ran right over you." She smiled nervously as Morgana scoffed. "Thanks, Fiona," she said sarcastically. "That really helped my low self-esteem."

"Oh, sorry, Morgana! I didn't mean – I don't want to insult you – you look fine!" Fiona wrung her hands worriedly, and Morgana snickered. The brunette looked confused, and George shook his head theatrically. "Fiona, Fiona, Fiona," he said patronizingly. "She was being sarcastic. You know, when someone says something in that tone of voice?" Fiona spluttered and made a face. "You know, for a girl, you really are very sarcastic," she hurriedly said, clumsily changing the subject.

"Yes, very unfeminine," added George. Morgana and Fiona swiveled their heads slowly towards him, eyes narrowed. George held his palms up defensively.

"What?"

* * *

Morgana groaned and buried her head under her pillow. The room had conjured up a bed for her and she had collapsed on top of it for half an hour. Potion brewing was exhausting – the only reason she was doing this was because she wanted to get rid of that horrible scar.

Fiona threw a pillow at her. "Morgana! Come on, you do want your potion to be finished, right?" Morgana sneered at the hyper enthusiastic girl and dragged herself to the cauldron. George had been watching the now bright yellow potion while she had been snoozing. It was now in the final stages of brewing and all it needed was one more major ingredient.

The reason the Cicatrix Potion was rarely ever brewed for mass distribution was because the potion had to be specific. Just the Polyjuice Potion needed the 'victim's hair, the Cicatrix Potion needed the scarred person's hair to be dropped in within an hour of completion. Somehow (although Morgana didn't quite understand it) the hair contained a person's 'essence', and by dropping it into the potion, it would absorb the essence and replicate it to heal the scars. Now, as she mused, George snuck up behind her and plucked a long, black strand of hair off her head. Before she could protest, the hair went straight into the cauldron.

The liquid fizzled and crackled, bubbles popping on the surface. Now, instead of a bright, golden yellow, the potion was a strange mix of the colours violet, green and blue – the essence of Morgana Greene. Fiona beamed, and before Morgana could say a word, she scooped up the potion into a bottle and thrust it in front of Morgana's face. She blinked and smirked at Fiona. "Drink it," George encouraged her. "I can't wait to see what you used to look like before you got… you know, it." Morgana ran her tongue over her teeth, grimacing. The scar had affected her in so many ways, and now Hogwarts students were of three categories to her: weak, ignorant or mean.

The weak ones were the ones who thought they were being kind, being nice, being helpful. The ones who looked at her scar with sympathy and pity in their eyes, the ones who treated her like she was a piece of glass that could be broken at any time. They were the ones that Morgana was disgusted by. The ignorant ones were the students who simply avoided her. They swerved around her and stammered apologies when they bumped into her, and tried never to look at her ugly scar. Whereas the mean ones were the students who sneered at her because of her horrible looks. They laughed at her and younger years giggled at her behind her back.

All because of her scar.

That foul, foul scar that made her disfigured, an ugly reminder of the Dark Wizard's authority over her. Morgana remembered faintly how others had fawned over her good looks, the looks she had took for granted. Grimly, she smiled and downed the potion in one gulp.

For a moment, she didn't feel anything changing. Fiona frowned at her worriedly. "Did you brew it right?" she asked. Morgana nodded and bit her lip. "Hang on…" She could feel a strange, foreign feeling surging through her veins, and it made her feel very warm and cozy.

All of a sudden, she lurched forwards. George and Fiona stepped forwards, alarmed, and grabbed her. Morgana could feel the potion going through her system, healing her scars. Not just the one disfiguring her face – all those tiny rips and tears on her skin from five long years of Grindelwald. The faint web of white tissue faded away, and was replaced by healthy pink flesh and smooth skin. The black, jagged scar running from her forehead to her chin was disappearing right before Fiona's eyes, and was covered over with pale skin. Morgana's slightly crooked nose was jerked back into place.

Finally, Morgana Greene looked like the girl that she was meant to be.

George recovered first. "Wow. You look… different," he said. "In a good way, of course," he added. Fiona giggled. "You look wonderful, Morgana!" Morgana smiled at Fiona, and asked the Room for a mirror. The castle's magic complied and the wall opposite her turned into a full length mirror. Morgana couldn't help but gape at her own reflection, so different to the one she knew so well.

Her once scraggly black hair was now in healthy, shiny locks. (Still scraggly though, but a bit of magic could fix up all those knots.) Her scar was gone, and her aristocratic features showed through. Her pale skin was fully healed, the web of scars gone. Morgana smirked and the girl in the mirror smirked back. Beside her, Fiona and George beamed.

They couldn't wait to see how the students of Hogwarts would react.

* * *

Morgana sat up in her bed and brushed her blue and bronze hangings aside. Pulling her uniform on, she grinned. Last night, as she had returned to Ravenclaw Tower, she had shocked her fellow Housemates with her new – old – appearance. Sam Davies had gaped at her and thought that she was someone playing a prank on him. Morgana was amazed and disgusted to see how many of her year mates who had formerly treated her like a piece of trash, now treated her like they had always been best friends. Appearances played a bigger part in influencing people than she had previously thought.

The world really was very uncomplicated: pretty people never had to try for anything, whereas the people who had disfigured faces had to work hard for everything they wanted. Morgana knew now, though, what it was like to be both. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't take anything for granted now, and that she wouldn't judge people based on appearances.

Now, she tied her hair out of her face in a simple braid, straight down her back, and strode out of the dorm room. She basked in the praise and wonder of Ravenclaw Tower (she couldn't help but feed her ego), then stepped outside. Morgana made her way down the spiral staircase with Fiona Boot just behind her. The two acted as if nothing was different – however, it was a special moment for Fiona. She saw Davies' face when he saw Morgana, and it was clear to Fiona that Sam liked Morgana as more than a friend. Pity, she mused. Morgana seems oblivious to it all. I wish I was her. What's for breakfast?

The pair met up with George as usual, and as they entered the Great Hall, they made a beeline for the table draped in blue and bronze. At first, no one noticed anything different, just as Morgana had intended, as the Ravenclaws had already seen Morgana's real appearance. She didn't want any more extra attention. The breakfast continued as normal, until a Hufflepuff, Amelia Jones, turned around to the Ravenclaw table. "Hey, Greene, pass the salt… oh sorry, I thought you were Morgana Greene." Amelia blinked in surprise and turned to Fiona, sitting next to Morgana, eager for some – any – gossip. "Where's Morgana? She usually sits here…" Fiona grinned wildly, and to Amelia's puzzlement, jabbed the 'new' girl sitting next to her with her elbow.

"See, Morgana? I told you people wouldn't recognize you!" The hyper brunette continued to chatter, as Amelia's eyes grew wide, and she hurriedly turned to her neighbor, salt forgotten. "Poppy!" Poppy Pomfrey, Amelia Jones' friend and dorm mate, drew her eyebrows together in irritation. "What?" she hissed, her quill frantically scribbling lines onto parchment. "Can't you see I'm finishing my Potions essay? Slughorn's really piling it on thick this year, because it's OWL year. I don't want to see how much homework we'll get during NEWTs – ouch! That hurt, you know!" Amelia had poked Poppy with her fork, and she spoke quickly before Poppy could reprimand her. "Morgana Greene!"

Poppy paused, confused. "What about Greene? You're not still on about that awful scar of hers, are you? Or that disastrous Quidditch match? That's just rude." Amelia shook her head, eyes gleaming. "Greene's gotten rid of her scar! She looks… well, just see for yourself." Poppy frowned, and turned around in her seat to gape at Morgana's clean, smooth face. The group of Hufflepuffs around her craned their necks as well, and the news spread like wildfire.

"Morgana Greene got rid of her scar!"

"That's Greene? I thought it was a new girl!"

"I want that potion. Now."

"You're kidding! That ugly fifth-year!"

"She's probably Glamoured herself or something. Hey, want to try out Finite Incantatem on her later?"

"That's the Mudblood? You fat-head, you're kidding right?"

"I heard she got the scar from Grindelwald himself! I should've looked at it closer before she vanished it."

Morgana groaned and tried to ignore the rumor mill. Fiona, however, seemed to bask in the attention. "Come on, Morgana!" she encouraged. "This is your chance to shine!" Morgana, with Ada curled around her arm, batted Fiona's hands away. "You can shine, thanks," she grumbled. George snickered as Morgana threatened Fiona with her pet snake.

Fiona stayed away from Morgana after that.

* * *

Abraxas Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow at the news that the girl was in fact the shamed Ravenclaw. Tom wasn't here today, though. He sipped his tea and turned to Cygnus. "Reckon Tom wants to hear about this?" Cygnus sneered and his betrothed, Olive Hornby, scowled. "She must have been desperate if she was willing to take surgery," she cackled. "Nah, Tom doesn't need to hear about desperate, vain Mudbloods."

Abraxas shrugged and went back to the Daily Prophet, and completely forgot about Greene.


	15. The Slug Club

**Hi again. Sorry for the l_ong_ wait - school exams are coming up and everyone's in a study frenzy. I probably won't have too much time to update again, but I'll try. But here comes the long awaited chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

A week after Ravenclaw's victory, Slytherin was _still _sulking.

The common room had a gloomy air – well, a gloomier air. It was always sort of cold and dark in the Slytherin common room, as it was under the Great Lake. It had a tall stone ceiling, with graceful arches and carvings of serpents lining the walls. There were glowing green lanterns hanging from chains attached to the pillars. Surrounding a low table were black leather couches, with strange green furs draped elegantly over them. Large French windows gave the room a mysterious turquoise light, showing a view to the dark underwater creatures that occasionally floated by. The common room entrance was a simple, blank stone wall, guarded by a small stone serpent engraved onto the ceiling above the entrance.

The stone entrance slid open smoothly, and the Slytherin Quidditch Team entered. They were met by hostile glares – the house hated the seven players and continued to ignore them and humiliate them. Only in the common room, though. Slytherins were a united front in public. Crockett, the coward, immediately went up to his dorm room. Fortunately for them, Abraxas Malfoy and Alphard Black were 'protected' by Tom Riddle. Higgs, Bole, Warrington and Bletchley, however, were not. They were scorned by their Housemates and treated like _Muggles_. _They deserve it_, thought Tom viciously. _If they'd just followed my strategy, Slytherin would've won against those bookworms._ The fact that Ravenclaw was now shunned as dirty cheaters was little consolation to him.

Olive was _still_ stuck to Tom's side, much to his annoyance. She was whining about Crockett and how they 'wouldn't have lost if Slytherin didn't have such a rubbish Quidditch team'. "The Giant Squid could play better than them!" she said loudly, attracting glares from the sweaty, sulking team. Abraxas, Tom could see, was being restrained by Alphard Black. The Malfoy was evidently trying to slap Hornby for her insulting comments all week. Tom raised an eyebrow at Malfoy. "Abraxas," he called out, his deep voice making a couple of fourth year girls giggle. He rolled his eyes. "We need to talk." Tom turned to Hornby, an apologetic smile on his face. "Excuse me, Olive," he said. "I'm afraid I have to speak with Abraxas."

Olive fluttered her lashes. "Oh, Tom, do you really need to talk now?" Tom silently struck the simpering girl with a Cruciatus Curse. "Yes, Olive, I'm afraid I must," he said, a touch of steel in his velvety voice. Before she could protest, he swept out of the room and into the dorms, where Abraxas followed. As the blond entered, he shut the door behind him. "Yes, Tom?" the Malfoy asked, puzzled. _Had he done something wrong? Was his lord going to punish him?_ His palms started to sweat, and Abraxas wiped his hands on his expensive robes. _Was it because of Slytherin's loss at Quidditch? _Tom smirked, not really helping to alleviate his worries. "Thank you, Abraxas, for helping me get rid of that annoying pest called Olive Hornby." Abraxas quietly thanked Merlin that Tom had not decided to punish him with the Cruciatus Curse. He started to smirk as well, catching on. "You are welcome, my lord," he said, bowing. Tom nodded. "You may go," he informed Abraxas. "I am going to Slughorn's party – make sure Hornby does not follow me, or you _will_ regret it."

Abraxas gulped and nodded. He fled the room and Tom shut the door. With a casual flick of his yew wand, the powerful wizard changed from his ordinary Slytherin school uniform, to a pair of bottle green robes, designed to bring out the stunning green of his eyes, courtesy of Alphard Black. Ignoring the high-pitched whines of Hornby, he strode out of the common room and into the 'Slug Club' room. Slughorn's large office was decorated extravagantly. There was a large, circular table in the center of the room, filled with plates of food, and comfortable chairs placed all around it. The windows were draped with silk, and there was a large space off to the side that was apparently a dance area. There was even a _chandelier_ dangling from the ceiling to top it all off. _Slughorn really does love his parties_, mused Tom. The round-faced man came over that very moment.

"Oho, Tom!" he boomed. "Lovely to see you here tonight! Please, take a seat, m'boy…" Noticing that his favorite student had come alone, Slughorn winked at the slightly disgusted Tom. "No girl with you? Pity, Tom, I hear every woman in the castle is swooning over you! In fact…" _Oh, Merlin, if Slughorn starts trying to play matchmaker with me, I swear I'll curse him to the moon and back_. Indeed, the Potions Professor was rambling on about his various acquaintances. 

"Now, there's a lovely girl in third year who is brilliant at Transfiguration… no, she's probably too young for you, m'boy! What about…" Tom felt like face palming – but Slytherins _did_ not face palm. Or bang their heads on doors. Instead, he smiled politely and waited impatiently for the man to _stop listing potential girlfriends_. As more and more Slug Club members flowed in through the open doors, Tom grew more and more irritated. However, one name caught his attention. "Yes, yes, a young lady in your year. She's a Ravenclaw, I believe… Ms. Greene, her name was. Terrible about that ugly scar of hers, though." Tom's eyes flashed and his head snapped up. Slughorn smiled fatherly at the fifth year, noticing his sudden attention. "You know her, I take it?" Here he winked, and the boy tried not curse him into tiny pieces.

"Yes," replied Tom stiffly. The round man didn't notice his cool tone and beamed at him. "Excellent! Luckily for you, Ms. Greene will be sitting right next to you! No need to thank me, m'boy! Good for you, looking beyond appearances, Tom." With that, Slughorn grinned at Tom and went off to greet his guests. Tom stood there, _almost_ gaping at the back of the Potions Professor's head. But Slytherins didn't gape. They gave outraged scowls, and that is exactly what Tom did. He scowled at Slughorn and swept off to his seat, ignoring the giggles in the corner of the room. The girls were flowerpots – all pretty on the outside and air-headed on the inside. The only reason he was even paying any attention to Greene was because of Morgana. Maybe they were sisters – and if that was true, then Greene should at least know that her sister was dead.

Reluctantly, the boy sat down at the table. About a minute later, a sixth-year girl took the seat next to him. She smiled shyly at him and subconsciously twirled her long hair around her finger. She then opened her mouth to speak, but Tom was not in the mood. Pearly white teeth showing through his fake smile, he dipped his head. "Excuse me," he said in a strong voice. Much to his disgust, she (_somewhere the back of his mind, he remembered the name Minerva_) blushed – why would anyone show that kind of weakness? He ploughed on regardless. "I'm afraid that seat is taken." Minerva bit her lip (_again, the obvious body language!_) and reluctantly slid out of the wooden chair. She headed back off to her friends, clearly disappointed. Tom rolled his eyes. "Stupid fan girls," he muttered to himself.

"I'm surprised, Riddle," a cool, clear voice said next to him. Never losing composure, he turned in his seat and met the shocking blue eyes of Greene. She had somehow slid into her seat without him noticing. What was more shocking was her appearance. Gone was the ugly scar marring her features. Greene looked pretty now. When did that happen?

Making a mental note to himself to pay more attention (how could he _not_ have noticed Greene's scar had disappeared?), Tom smiled politely at her, faking a look of confusion. "Why would you be surprised, Greene?" A hint of mocking slipped into his voice as he said the last word, but the girl did not react. Her mask was _almost_ as good as his – because no one was better than Tom Riddle. It seemed as though life was full of surprises. "I was under the impression that you enjoyed attention. In fact, I thought you craved it," she replied. Both of them understood that she was implying that he was an attention seeker. He raised a dark eyebrow.

"You assume wrong then. Why do you ask? Jealous, Greene?" He smirked. If she did not react to intellectual jabs, then she had to react to petty ones. True enough, Greene's eyes narrowed slightly, and her hands became tense, just like Morgan- Tom stopped _that_ train of thought. _Stop thinking about her!_ Turning his attention back to the conversation, he realized that she had said something. "Jealous?" Greene scoffed. "Of you? Keep dreaming, Riddle." She had practically spat the last word, as if the name was a foul, disgusting word. Tom was about to respond, but the irritating Potions Professor started to tap his glass for attention. As the noisy crowd quieted, he shot Greene a look which clearly promised _this isn't over yet_.

"Ahem!" Slughorn beamed at his guests, acting like an overenthusiastic host. "I'd like to thank everyone for coming here today! As all of you know, Christmas is approaching, so I thought I would hold a Club meeting tonight. Now, I would like to introduce some of our special guests today." He gestured for a man to come over, and the students reluctantly began clapping. The man had sharp, pointed features, with pale skin and a bald head. He was wearing a black cloak, wrapped tightly over his bony shoulders. As he smiled, he revealed sharp fangs, and Tom realized he was a vampire. Next to him, Greene seemed to have reached the same conclusion and shifted slightly. He smirked at her and she glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd probably be dead a thousand times over. As it was, he was not going to die, and he wasn't going to die any time soon, if he could help it…

The vampire introduced himself as Vladimir, evidently preferring not to give a surname. As Slughorn continued to introduce different people, Tom began to drift off. There was a posh Ministry official called Bartholomew Diggory, a former potions prodigy called Eileen Prince, a curse-breaker who used to attend Durmstrang… As the endless list of guests were introduced, Tom let himself daydream, tapping a random pattern on the table impatiently. When he left Hogwarts, he would ask Dippet for a position to teach. Any position would be fine, but he preferred Defense Against The Dark Arts. Hogwarts was his home – he could not leave it. The Headmaster was already easy to persuade, he could easily take the position, but Dumbledore posed a problem. The old coot would probably try to dissuade Dippet from accepting him. Dumbledore always had to meddle with his life, didn't he? Never acknowledging him in Transfiguration, always telling other staff members that something was wrong with him, picking out his faults… He snapped back to reality as Slughorn continued to talk.

"So, the last person I would like to introduce is Ms. Greene over here! Ms. Greene?" The girl next to him stood up gracefully and smiled at everyone. Tom snorted inwardly, earning a puzzled look from Slughorn. Greene ignored him and introduced herself. "Good evening, everyone," she said. Tom mentally shook his head. _Not a good evening at all._ "My name, as most of you already know, is Morgana Greene. I'm in my fifth year, and I'm new to Hogwarts. I grew up in Muggle London, and yes, I'm Muggleborn. I don't appreciate any comments about that, thanks. As you can see, I'm in Ravenclaw…" Tom's long fingers froze in its tapping, and he stared at the girl next to him. He reran the conversation through his numb brain once more.

_My name, as most of you already know, is Morgana Greene._

Tom's mind could not process the thought. Morgana Greene. From the orphanage in London?

_The similarities were striking – the same ebony hair, the same pale skin… and, oh Merlin, the eyes were the exact same unique shade of deep blue. But that was impossible._ Was it really? Perhaps… yes. Tom sucked in a sharp breath.

Morgana was not dead. She was alive and well, and she was standing right next to him.

Morgana Greene was not dead. She was back. His best friend was back.

Wait.

When did Morgana become immortal again?

**Woohoo! They meet! Now, some of you have pointed out mistakes (mainly in character development) in your reviews, and thank you for that. After I complete all the chapters, I will be able to go back and edit, and smooth out any mistakes. Again, thank you to all those loyal readers checking out this story.**

**Cheers!**


	16. Met His Match

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Back again! Updates should be speeding up now. Hope you liked the reunion last chapter - this time its written from Morgana's point of view. Massive chapter here to make up for my huge absence before.**

**Now, as someone has asked me if I would like fan art, the answer is yes. I'm flattered, really, that anyone would want to draw for this story. If possible, I would like to use it as a book cover for this fanfic (with the artist's permission, of course). Another thing: requests. If anyone has any requests for any fanfics they would like written (plenty of people want certain fanfics written but don't want to write it themselves) I would gladly take them through reviews or PMs.**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

Morgana sighed in resignation as Fiona bounced about her constantly.

"Finally! You finally accepted Slughorn's invitation – although I don't know why you wouldn't! I wouldn't at all! Come _on_, Morgana…" She grinned at her unenthusiastic friend. "Here, you can borrow my dress robes if you don't have any. Ooh, can I do your hair up? Please! Those ebony locks are _begging_ me to work my magic on them!" Morgana stood up stiffly, tired of Fiona's chatter. "I'll be fine," she told her, exasperated. Fiona was a good friend but sometimes she was just too much.

Hang on. Did she just regard Fiona as a friend? A strange feeling bubbled up in her chest. She had never really had a friend who was a girl before – she mostly regarded others as pretty dolls without a head. It was… _pleasant_ to feel needed, especially by someone who was so different to herself. As she mused over her own thoughts, she mindlessly swished her wand, and her school robes were transfigured into long dress robes. Fiona squealed and clapped her hands.

Her dress robes weren't very fancy at all – the material was made of soft, midnight blue silk, with a golden trim. Rolling her eyes at Fiona's childishness, Morgana couldn't help but smile fondly. She strode out of Ravenclaw Tower, and down to the Potions Professor's office. On her way down the Charms Corridor, she met Sam Davies, the Quidditch Captain, again. He was also a member of the Slug Club, because of his father, who played for the National team. He grinned at her and accompanied her down to the Potions Corridor.

When she twisted the polished golden doorknob, she almost gaped at the sheer extravagance that Slughorn called 'little decorations'. There was a chandelier, for Merlin's sake! Next to her, Sam blinked. "Slughorn does love his parties," he chuckled, and headed off to his assigned seat with a pleasant wave and a wink. "See you around, Morgana!" She nodded and examined her new surroundings with a critical eye. Slughorn had clearly decorated his office in pure Slytherin style – green and silver walls, antiques lining the wall, and beautiful architecture to show off his wealth. The man himself was deeply engaged in a conversation with Tom Riddle. She smirked at the horrified and disgusted expression on the boy's face, and wondered what they were talking about.

As she wandered about the room, she saw another girl, with long brown hair flowing down her back, eyelashes fluttering, attempt to sit by Riddle's side. Morgana recognized the girl as Head Girl, Minerva McGonagall. Slightly surprised and curious when he waved her away, she edged closer. To her immense discomfort, she saw that Slughorn had seated her next to the powerful wizard. In her mind, she cursed the professor silently. Sure, in the first week, she had been eager to meet Tom Riddle, but his cronies, Malfoy, Lestrange and Hornby had kept her away. Not to mention that scar that was – no – _used to be_ on her face. Morgana grimaced at the reminder of the disasterous incident, when she had tried to find Tom Riddle.

_Morgana strode up to the Slytherin Common Room, determined to talk to the Prefect Tom Riddle. However, luck was not on her side at all. Exiting the Slytherin common room were the two people Morgana least wanted to see – Cygnus Lestrange and Olive Hornby. Olive reminded Morgana of an older Lavina George – albeit with magic. Whereas Lestrange seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face, as his thin lips were always turned downwards whenever they met. The pair stopped abruptly as soon as they saw her. A disgusted look came across Hornby's face, her nose wrinkling. "Cygnus," she said in a high, sweet voice. "Do you smell something?" Lestrange grunted, and Hornby seemed to take that as a 'yes'. The Slytherin girl snickered. "Smells gross, like wet dirt and garbage. Smells like… Mudblood." Morgana gritted her teeth, but kept her unfazed composure._

_"Is Tom Riddle in there?" she had asked. Morgana was trying to be diplomatic (and straight to the point, as these morons didn't seem to have enough of a brain to understand subtlety) but Hornby cackled. "Don't worry, dearie," she gave a false smile. "Everyone loves Tom, even stupid transfers like you. It's alright to be hopelessly in love." She stressed the last word in a pitying tone. Lestrange made a disgusted face at Hornby's words, and glared at Morgana as if it was all her fault. The Ravenclaw scowled and crossed her arms defensively. "That's not why I'm here. Besides, aren't you supposed to be engaged in an arranged marriage? Never thought you would be one to lust over someone else."_

_Hornby fluttered her eyelashes, pointedly ignoring her comment. Next to her, Cygnus Lestrange, scowled and his face turned a nasty shade of red. "Whatever you say, Greene. It wouldn't matter either way. Of course it would be pointless to tag along with Tom all the time. Tom doesn't have time for a filthy Mudblood like you. That scar of yours makes you look like a cockroach too. Why would _anyone_ want to be with you?" The words stung, even as Morgana tried to block the horrid girl's voice out. Hornby sneered haughtily. "Shoo, little Mudblood. The snakes might gobble you up." Hornby screeched with laughter as Morgana stormed away._

After that, she had just stopped trying. Riddle had probably forgotten her anyway – and who wanted to talk to a stupid, ugly _mudblood_? Morgana scowled again, and tried to cheer herself up by imagining Hornby being stabbed by a thousand knives.

It didn't work.

Sighing, Morgana stalked over to her spot, just in time to hear Riddle mutter to himself in an exasperated tone. "Stupid fan girls."

She sat down silently and couldn't resist replying to his comment. Morgana couldn't help but notice that Riddle seemed slightly surprised at her appearance. For the next few minutes, she spent her time arguing with Riddle, baiting him. They could both appreciate the subtle insults and sharp witty comments, but just as things were getting heated, Slughorn tapped his glass for attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Riddle glaring at her. She smirked back at him. The Potions Professor didn't seem to notice, and continued his long, self important speech.

He started to introduce his endless list of guests, which included a pale man with pointed teeth – a vampire! She shifted in her wooden seat and glared at Riddle when he smirked at her. It wasn't her fault that vampires reminded her of Dark Arts and Grindelwald. A hot flash of anger exploded inside her chest, but she purposely ignored it.

Morgana started to drift off into her own thoughts as Slughorn continued to talk. Around her, others were doing the same. John Corner was staring at the vampire, a glazed look in his eyes; Charles Potter was passing notes to his girlfriend, Dorea Black; and Tom Riddle was tapping his pale fingers on the wooden table impatiently. Bored, she watched the long digits tap out a beat on the surface. Tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap. Tap, tap-tap…

She let herself muse about the current events at Hogwarts. Recently, the Quidditch team had been showering her with praises, especially the Quidditch Captain. Morgana was not oblivious – Sam Davies was clearly trying to win her affections – but she acted like she didn't notice a thing. Why would she?

Sure, Sam was a good friend, and nice to have around, but that was all he was. A friend. Fiona had also noticed this, and she was now the subject of endless teasing and prodding. _"Does he like you?" "Why don't you return his affections?" "Ooh, that's so romantic!"_ Morgana had eventually sent a Silencing Charm at the hyperactive brunette and poured a Calming Draught down her throat, in front of dozens of speechless Ravenclaws.

No one dared bother her after that, although she did hear the words, "Minerva McGonagall version 2.0" whispered behind her back.

Minerva McGonagall, the witch who had just tried to sit in her chair, was a rule abiding Gryffindor. She also had an enormous crush on Tom Riddle, her fellow prefect. It was the worst kept secret in the school, and everyone, even tiny first years, knew about it. Apparently, in her fifth year (she was in her seventh, now), Margaret Skeeter, Hogwarts' notorious Gossip Queen, had found out about Minerva's secret 'heartache'.

By the end of the week, the entire school knew, and poor Minerva was the subject of merciless teasing. However, her fellow classmates soon learnt not to mess with her – anyone who even _mentioned_ her name and Tom Riddle's in the same sentence ended up in the Hospital Wing. Thus, the term "pulling a McGonagall" was born. Morgana had to pity the Head Girl, although she was pretty sure that every female in Hogwarts had crushed on Tom Riddle before.

She was drawn back to earth when Slughorn asked her to introduce herself. Trying very hard not to look like she had been daydreaming, Morgana stood up without missing a beat, her posture rigid and a pleasant smile on her face. "Good evening," she spoke out, making eye contact with all her fellow guests. First impressions lasted a long time. To the side, she saw Tom Riddle snorting at her, and then sheepishly stopping as Slughorn sent him a puzzled look.

"My name, as most of you already know, is Morgana Greene. I'm in my fifth year, and I'm new to Hogwarts. As you can see, I'm in Ravenclaw House." She continued to tell her bored audience about herself, and resisted the urge to reprimand Davies as he stared at her unabashedly, a curious gleam in his eyes. Morgana did not mention her time as a prisoner of Grindelwald – she didn't want sympathy or pity from anyone.

A few minutes later, Morgana sat back down, and realized that the formalities were over. Meticulously arranged, freshly prepared food was piled on the table, and students were greedily reaching for it. Sam, who was on the opposite side of the table, smiled at her and spooned some pudding onto his plate. As the hungry students ate, Slughorn beamed benevolently at all of them and stood up once more. Morgana resisted the urge to face palm, or at least hit her head on the table.

Apparently, the Potions Professor was very fond of speeches. This time, it was to announce a Ball. A Christmas Ball. "Ahem, everyone," he said. "It is my privilege to inform you that Hogwarts shall be hosting a Christmas Ball this year! Now, Headmaster Dippet has not yet announced this yet, but he will in a few days. I simply decided to let Slug Club members know ahead of time, as to, ah, _prepare_." Here, he winked at his engaged audience, pleased that they were paying attention.

As Slughorn sat back down again, telling his students to continue eating, Morgana felt like groaning. _Just my luck_, she thought. _More teenage drama and angst coming up_. She turned to her plate, picking up her fork, and frowned as she realized that there was a pale hand already there, frozen in the middle of a rhythmic tapping. "Riddle," she said coolly. "Kindly remove your hand from my dinner plate." The hand did not move, and her disapproving gaze travelled up to meet Riddle's eyes…

… that were the exact shade of forest green from her memories, and were currently staring right into hers with an expression of disbelief. Morgana tried to ignore the stark similarities this boy held to the Tom Riddle of her childhood. "Err… hello? Riddle? Anyone there?" she wiggled her fingers in front of his handsome face, and his wide eyes blinked with surprise. He made a weird, twisted, strangled noise. "Morgana Greene?" Surprised, she tilted her head, studying him. His normally pale cheeks were slightly flushed and his eyes had a certain degree of wildness in them. She replied calmly, wondering about his reaction. "Yes, that's me."

This seemed to pull Riddle back from wherever his twisted mind had been, down to reality. After a hesitant, awkward silence, he opened his mouth again – and hissed. "_Morgana Greene?_" he tried. Morgana blinked in shock. Tom Riddle, a Parselmouth? Who would've thought?

But somehow, it didn't really come as a surprise… Morgana thought back to a long time ago.

_Morgana conjured up a squirrel and watched it run about, squeaking. She sat down on the grass and amused herself by trying to shoot tiny bolts of lightening at it. Tom chuckled darkly as the rodent froze and crackled with electricity before slumping over. "_One fried squirrel,"_ he hissed._

No, she had known about Tom Riddle being a Parselmouth long before Hogwarts.

He remembered! A warm feeling spread through her, and Morgana smiled. Not a smirk, not a snicker, a true, genuine smile. "Hello again, Tom," she grinned. Tom's deep green eyes softened slightly, just like they sometimes did when they had been younger. "Wool's Orphanage?" he said, as if to confirm her existence. Morgana smirked at him in confirmation.

"Took you long enough," she replied dryly. The boy next to her started to grin, the edges of his mouth seemingly touching the tips of his ears, his eyes crinkling in joy. Morgana didn't think that she had ever seen anyone so happy – and certainly not Tom Riddle, manipulator extraordinaire. She leaned forwards and grinned back.

Tom hesitated. "I thought you were dead," he said, his smile faltering slightly. Morgana laughed quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not that easy to get rid of," she answered without missing a beat. Tom smirked at her, cool composure back in place. "It's nice to have you back," he said, some honesty leaking through the cracks in his voice. There was an awkward silence for a couple of seconds, filled with the hum of background noise.

"What about the attack? So many years ago, in the park?" Tom finally asked. "They found mangled bodies, and I thought…" The sentence was left unfinished, but Morgana finished it in her head. _I thought that was your dead body_.

"They captured me," she answered. "Lavina George – remember that annoying girl that had a massive crush on you? – shut the gates behind her and trapped me in there." Morgana retold her story, all the while watching Tom's face. She told him of how she had been captured, of how she had received her scar, of how she escaped and of all the horrors and atrocities Grindelwald had committed.

Tom's face remained blank throughout her entire monologue, but she could detect the faintest of emotions. There was anger and sadness, curiosity and outrage – but certainly no sympathy. No pity. Just a blank face and a stoic expression. The lingering strands of doubt faded away.

That was _definitely_ her Tom Riddle.

Finally, when she finished, Tom wet his lips and asked. She tried to ignore the slight increase in her heart rate. "You're muggleborn?" Morgana clenched her fists slightly, but she couldn't feel any anger or hatred towards her old friend. "Yes," she answered shortly, and held her breath. _Would he judge her simply because of her blood? Would he reject her?_ Tom was silent for a minute, before asking one of the questions that had been floating around his head for quite a while.

"Why didn't you come and find me? You've been here for a while, and we've seen each other. Why didn't you just tell me who you were?" Tom questioned. Morgana's eyes hardened._ What was this, 20 questions?_ Nevertheless, she answered truthfully. "Your _friends_," she spat, "kept me away. I did try to speak to you, but you either ignored me or I couldn't reach you, all because I was a stupid _Mudblood_. Not to mention that scar from Grindelwald made me an outcast."

Tom breathed in deeply and pushed his anger down. _How dare she speak to me in that tone-_ shut up, thought Tom to the little voice in the back of his head. He forced down his pride and opened his mouth, speaking words that he would probably only say once.

"I'm sorry," he said – and he meant it too. He had missed Morgana terribly, but he had let Malfoy and Lestrange influence his decision. Appearances were far too deceiving for his liking – the two purebloods would need to be taught a lesson. Morgana relaxed, but her shoulders remained tense. "It's alright," she said, pushing the incident behind her.

She decided to ask a question this time. "Why didn't you recognize me? I haven't changed that much, have I?" Tom's tilted his head. "No, still as beautiful as ever," he said smoothly. Morgana rolled her eyes and stared right into his green ones. "Don't avoid the subject, Tom," she said bluntly. Tom scowled. "Fine," he muttered. "The memories were painful." Morgana's eyebrow lifted in skepticism. "You don't shy away from pain," she said, in an all-knowing tone. It was a statement, a fact, not a random suspicion.

Tom kept a blank face, deliberating whether to be honest or to lie. Eventually deciding to tell the truth (this was Morgana, after all. She could see right through lies) he tried to get it over quickly. "Thescarmadeyoulookugly," he said, all in one breath. Morgana blinked – had she misheard something? "You didn't ask around because my scar made me look ugly?" she said incredulous. After a moment of silence, she smirked. "Tom, I never took you for the vain type. Hornby must be rubbing off on you!" Tom scowled and resisted the urge to Crucio her. People did not laugh at Tom Riddle.

But for once, he would let her disobedience pass.

It was a special occasion, after all. And this was a special person.

**Again, fan art and fanfic requests are welcomed gladly. Thank you to all those reviewers who reviewed last chapter - you guys are awesome!**

**Please review and tell me if you like the new revamped version better or the old one. :)**


	17. Christmas

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. All rights go to their respective owners.**

**Here's another chapter! Thank you everyone for sticking with me so far. This chapter is just a filler, pure fluff and all that jazz. Enjoy!**

It was a sunny, crisp winter's day at Hogwarts.

The snow was drifting downwards in the form of soft white snowflakes. It had been snowing for a while now, covering the trees and the turrets with white icing. The gentle wind whipped around the castle, blowing through the open windows of Ravenclaw Tower. The breeze brushed against Morgana's face, waking her up.

She beamed and hopped out of bed. It was the beginning of the Christmas holiday – and the first Christmas she had celebrated in freedom, without her scar. (The ones in the orphanage didn't count in her opinion.) It was ten times better now that she was friends with Tom again. It was just like the old times.

They had been friends for about a month since the Slug Club meeting. Morgana was interested to see how much Tom had changed. He was just as cold, if not colder. Tom's mask was better too, and he looked very attractive. She could see why the females of Hogwarts admired him so… and she felt slight heat on her cheeks at _that_ thought.

For some peculiar reason that was probably totally irrelevant, Professor Slughorn seemed especially proud and pleased. The first time he had seen them together, sitting next to each other in Potions, he had beamed and congratulated them loudly. "Oho! My top star students are together, eh? Good choice, Tom! Good choice!" Morgana suppressed her urge to laugh at the expression on her friend's face. Tom shot her a 'help-me-or-else' look and she smirked.

But her eyes widened in horror as Slughorn turned to her. "Well, Ms. Greene! It's lovely to see you with Tom – no doubt your brilliance will shine even brighter combined. Good luck, my dear!" Morgana flushed. The way Slughorn was talking, and the way the Olive Hornby and Myrtle Thomas was glaring at her made it seem as if the two were _together_, in the romantic sense.

"Erm, Professor, we're not in a relationship or anything…" she spoke quickly. Tom nodded firmly. To their dismay, Slughorn just chuckled heartily. "Of course not," he said, winking. Morgana groaned, and she could see Tom's eye twitching in annoyance. Both of their cheeks were flushed, and the two tried to avoid each other's eyes.

That class turned out to be the most awkward Potions lesson she had ever had.

However, Morgana was upset and a bit angry to find that he was willing to support pureblood propaganda, even though he was a half-blood and she a muggleborn. She understood that he wanted to be top of the food chain in Slytherin Hierarchy, and Tom always seemed the type to want possessive control over everything in his life. Because he wanted to keep his _pureblood_ connections, he didn't really treat her as a friend in front of the Slytherins.

She knew it was silly, but she couldn't help but feel betrayed.

Morgana had brought up the issue after a couple of days with Tom. They had had a small quarrel over it which none of them enjoyed. Tom insisted that this was how he would one day gain power, and Morgana told him that he was being a hypocrite. The argument had escalated and ended in a fierce shouting match between the two, both struggling for dominance. After that, things between them were still quite tense, but the two left it there. Morgana knew the conversation wasn't finished, though.

But as today was Christmas break, she was willing to forget it.

Changing into casual clothes, she quickly brushed her teeth and skidded down the stairs. The Ravenclaw Common Room was mostly empty, because everyone but a few people had gone home to celebrate with their families. As Fiona was gone, along with her brother, Morgana had more time to spend with Ada and Tom.

She ignored the funny look the other Ravenclaw in the room gave her (no doubt at her inappropriate amount of excitement for Christmas, for someone as old as her) and ran out of the common room, down the staircase, and into the Great Hall. Today was also a Hogsmeade Weekend.

Originally, she had planned to go with Fiona, but when the brunette received a letter telling her to come home (her grandmother was ill), Morgana was forced to cancel her plans. Instead, she intended to go to Hogsmeade and buy some Christmas gifts. Morgana had wanted to go with Tom, but he couldn't get Mrs. Cole's signature for his permission slip. She scowled at the reminder of the sour faced crone and at the fact Tom couldn't go. Headmaster Dippet wasn't the problem – it was Dumbledore. He seemed to be at odds with Tom, and vice versa; it must have been he who convinced Dippet not to change the rules. Gryffindor 'equality' and all that nonsense.

Hah. As if. The only reason she could go was because she had convinced Dippet to bend the rules slightly before Dumbledore could interfere. It was too late for Tom.

Morgana grabbed a muffin from the table and waved goodbye to her dark haired friend, who sat at the deserted Slytherin table, picking at his toast and scribbling in that black diary of his. ("It's not a diary, it's a journal," he had argued. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever keeps you happy at night," she teased. He sneered, and she thought she had seen a flash of red in his eyes. Morgana didn't pursue the matter after that.) She climbed into the carriage, petting the Thestrals as she went, and was reminded of the first time she had ridden to Hogwarts. She grinned. Grindelwald and St. Mungo's seemed like a far off nightmare from so long ago.

Morgana had sworn revenge on the Dark Lord though, and she never broke a promise.

She hissed to Ada throughout the journey to Hogsmeade. The stubborn little snake was quite posh and sassy, and as much as Morgana tried to hate or reprimand her, she could help but like Ada's company. She rolled her eyes fondly as Ada kept complaining about the bumpiness of the carriage. Snakes would never change.

Finally, with Ada whining about a cold ("_Snakes don't get colds, Ada._" "_How would you know, you ignorant human_!" "_It's a well known fact, silly._" Ada just stuck her forked tongue out and burrowed into the coat pocket) they reached the small Wizarding village. Morgana couldn't help but marvel at the little town – it was just like the ones she had read about in storybooks or the quaint miniature settlements in Christmas snow globes.

The small, low houses were scattered across the white plain, their tall chimneys and steep sloped roofs coated in ice and snow. Warm, friendly lamps glowed inside the buildings, yellow light spilling out through the windows. Holly wreaths hung from every doorway, and the fir trees, covered in a layer of crisp white snow, had enchanted candles floating around them.

Morgana couldn't help but feel sad that Tom couldn't see all of this – he would have scoffed at the picturesque village, but she knew that he would secretly enjoy it all. She passed by Madam Puddifoot's, Zonko's Joke Shop and Gladrags, instead stepping inside Honeydukes. She was immediately dwarfed by the tall shelves, stacked with sweets and candy of all kinds. Morgana gaped at the sheer size of the store – it had been magically expanded inside. She swept her hand along the display, reading all the signs with bemusement and the occasional laugh. Really? Blood Pops?

There were succulent Chocoballs, a large barrel of Every Flavour Beans, fragile sugar spun quills, Exploding Bonbons, and so much more that Morgana could hardly remember them all. They were all organized in neat little rows on the shelves, and some were displayed out front. Morgana had great fun trying out samples of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, trying to guess the flavours. When she chose chili twice in a row, she finally decided she had had enough.

Now, what to get for Christmas gifts? She planned on sending them to Fiona, Tom and maybe Sam. He had gotten the rest of Ravenclaw House off her back by convincing them that it wasn't her fault that the disastrous Quidditch match turned out the way it did. Plus, he was influential, not to mention handsome. He was best mates with George too. Yes, she did need to send him a Christmas present.

For Fiona, she picked out a package of Honeydukes sweets that was affordable with her pitiful amount of gold, and once she was out of the shop, she transfigured the wrapping to the one identical to the 'Honeydukes Best Chocolates' package. Knowing Fiona, she would never bother to check anyway, and simply scoff down all the chocolates at once. The brunette was already hyperactive all the time, and Morgana wasn't sure if giving her more sugar would help. Oh well. She also transfigured some cheap bracelets into expensive looking opal necklace. Really, she didn't know why wizards didn't use Transfiguration all the time. Probably because most were too weak and lazy to explore the subject and cast the spells, she mused.

She placed the opal necklace into her bag. Fiona would appreciate some jewelry, since the Christmas Ball was looming near. It was to be held after the Christmas break, so that all students could attend. Right now, no one had asked her – but then, that was probably because only Slug Club members knew of it, and had been warned by a guilty Slughorn that it was classified information. Plus, all the males had probably forgotten about the ball (definitely Tom), or were busy trying to work up the courage to ask out their dates (Charlus Potter was going to ask Dorea Black, but for a Gryffindor he was actually quite cowardly).

For Sam, she gave him some Quidditch figurines and some Chocolate frogs. Impersonal yet friendly gifts; perfect. He was a Quidditch player too, so she would add in a book on Quidditch to that. _Boys and their sports_, thought Morgana fondly. She also took some Crystallized Pineapple for Slughorn, for whenever she needed a favour done. It was his favorite.

With the magical sweets in her bag, she headed to a shady shop in a dark alley of Hogsmeade, where she purchased a thick, dragon hide bound volume for Tom. The tome, "_Magick Moste Eville_", was quite a dark book, covering many subjects banned by the Ministry. She was hesitant to get it (too much knowledge could be dangerous, especially with Tom) but as she scanned the book she saw it only talked about the Dark Arts. It didn't inform the reader how to commit such Dark rituals. Worries slightly alleviated, she bought it, ignoring the strange look the shopkeeper gave her, most likely at her youthful age, not at the book. This was a Dark bookstore, after all. Morgana also picked out a book on Ancient Runes for herself, as extra reading.

Morgana then went to the Three Broomsticks, and ordered a large Butterbeer. The bartender, a curvy woman, served the chattering customers, while holding a little girl by the hand. Morgana chuckled as the woman told her daughter, 'Rosie', to go back upstairs. She sipped the foamy drink, and felt a pleasant warmth travel down her throat.

How she loved the magical world.

* * *

The next morning was Christmas Day.

Morgana immediately crept down to the Ravenclaw Common Room, eagerly shifting through the mound of presents at the base of the Christmas tree. Hey, this was her first time getting presents – she had an excuse to feel so excited. She found four packages with her name on it; one from Tom, one from Fiona, one from Sam and another that simply read 'a secret admirer'. Ada slithered over to it, fascinated by the red wrapping.

Morgana scoffed at the last package – Olive Hornby was quite determined to undermine her. _She must be daft if she didn't realize that I can recognize her writing. Secret admirer, hah!_ Using her wand, she cast a few diagnostic spells on the box. It turned out that it was Bubotuber pus, designed to make her hands burst into boils. Maybe the vain Slytherin thought that Tom was only her friend because of her new – old – good looks. Smirking wickedly, she changed the wrapping and wrote a new note, careful to disguise her handwriting.

_My dear Olive, _

_I do hope this makes your day. Merry Christmas!_

_Tom_

As if Tom would write such a sweet, casual letter to Hornby. Morgana hoped Tom would forgive her for this underhanded trick – but the witch did deserve it. No doubt she would eagerly open the present, hoping for some chocolates or something romantic from her _darling_ Tom. (Sarcasm intended) Morgana also charmed the wrapping and note to disappear, as not to leave any evidence. But Hornby would probably know who it was from anyway.

Revenge was so sweet.

Banishing the package to Hornby, she turned to open her three other presents. From Tom, she had received a beautiful, eagle feather tipped quill. It was spelled to never run out of ink, and Morgana smiled. It was Tom-ish a present that she could recognize who it was from without reading the label. Practical yet aesthetically pleasing. Ada hissed in approval.

Leaving the quill on her bedside table, she opened the blue and bronze wrapped box from Sam. She was slightly confused at first – why would Sam gift her with a present? She was the one who owed him – but then when she saw the gift Morgana understood. Sam liked her, perhaps as more than a friend. He had sent a silver bracelet with little sapphires embedded into the metal. Morgana slipped it on – maybe she could use this one-sided relationship to manipulate the handsome, influential Quidditch Captain.

Finally, she received a book about spell creation from Fiona. It was titled 'Creating Curses and Hexes For Beginners', and Morgana placed it beside the quill, smirking wickedly. She mentally thanked Fiona for giving her a new way of hexing Hornby.

Morgana grinned and went down to the Great Hall, after setting out Ada's stone for her 'sunbathing'. She sat at the Slytherin table, ignoring the disapproving look Dumbledore was giving her. He had been looking at her in a new light since she had fixed up her scar. Pity was no longer part of that appraising gaze. Siding up to Tom, she smirked. "Morning," she said. He smirked right back. "Merry Christmas, Morgana. Thank you for that _interesting_ book," Tom replied. "You're welcome. Oh, that counts as your birthday present too." "Then, I suppose I could say the quill counts as _your_ birthday present as well. After all, we are practically the same age," he replied, not missing a beat. Morgana nodded. "True."

She pulled her sleeves back and began to munch on her crumpet. Tom's dark eyes slid over her arm, stopping at the bracelet dangling from her wrist, narrowing at the fancy engraving. "Who gave that to you?" Morgana shrugged casually, enjoying the buttery crumpet. "Sam did." For some reason, Tom scowled at this, annoyed.

Morgana dismissed his strange behaviour in favour of surveying the Great Hall. There were twelve Christmas trees propped up around the hall, all decorated in fairy lights. The candles floated around, glowing red and green and white, and the enchanted suits of armor sang Christmas carols. Even Peeves was in a festive mood, humming rude tunes to himself.

She noticed Olive glaring at her (her family insisted she stay at school with her brother) and hissed quietly under her breath in Parseltongue. Olive would explode with anger if she spoke out loud in English. "_I think you have an admirer,"_ Morgana wiggled her eyebrows.

Tom rolled his eyes. "_Olive? She's already engaged."_

"_To who?" _

_"__Cygnus, actually."_

Morgana blinked. She didn't know that.

"_Why's she glaring at you anyway?"_ Tom asked. Morgana snickered. "_Probably because she can't understand us. Oh, and I also sent her a bag of Bubotuber pus. Undiluted, too."_ Tom surreptitiously glanced at Hornby's gloved hands and suppressed a laugh. "_Such a pleasant Christmas present. How'd you get her to open it? She's not that foolish."_ Morgana bit her lip. "_Erm, I may have used your name. In a sort of romantic letter._"

She giggled at Tom's indignant expression. "She fell for that?" he spluttered, in English. "My name! In a romantic letter, no less. Morgana…" He glared at her and she smiled unrepentantly. Despite his intense glare, she could still see a hint of a smile on his lips. Morgana swept her hair back and winked at him. "Maybe I should use your name more often in letters." He just scowled and reverted back to Parseltongue. _"Don't you dare."_

"Is everything alright here?"

The pair jumped in surprise. Dumbledore had snuck up behind them, and saw staring at the two suspiciously. How much had he heard? Was he aware of their serpent tongue abilities? Tom rearranged his facial features into an innocent expression. Morgana just tried to looked nonchalant. "Yes, professor," he said smoothly. "Merry Christmas, sir." The dismissal was clear in his tone, but Dumbledore ignored it.

The Transfiguration teacher watched him dubiously, and turned to Morgana, no doubt thinking that she was a classic goody-two-shoes and would answer all his questions. She scoffed inside. _Newsflash, old man: not all intelligent students bend over backwards for authority_. Oblivious to her insulting thoughts, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Is there anything you would like to tell me, Ms. Greene?"

Oh, so he thought she was being threatened by Tom! Well, she was, but not in that way. Morgana blinked and smiled shyly at the auburn bearded man. "No, sir. Merry Christmas, sir." She nodded to him. Reluctantly, the wary professor nodded and headed back to the staff table.

Tom sneered behind Dumbledore's back. "Stupid old professor," he muttered. Morgana chuckled. "Merry Christmas, indeed."

**I've changed my updating schedule. It'll be based around the number of reviews, because some readers are guest readers and don't have an account. I'm happy for guest reviews - the more the better! Again, fan art and requests are welcome, although my main focus is still Met His Match.**


	18. The Ball (Part 1)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Hi again! Thanks to everyone who reviewed and followed (see below) - I really appreciate it! I never knew how much reviews mattered until I started writing... Anyway, it'll be moving onto the romance bit soon enough in a couple of chapters. Enjoy!**

Olive seethed in anger.

Her Tom was spending _far_ too much time with that filthy mudblood. They were now inseparable, always spending their breaks together. Tom would laugh at the Mudblood's words and she would always parry back. They were always sitting together now, and always being paired up in class. Olive wasn't blind – she could see the Mudblood and Tom were constantly touching each other, talking with each other. As if the pair orbited around each other. It was disgusting. Olive was sure the stupid Mudblood had drugged her darling Tom with a strong Love Potion – why else would Tom be with her?

As for her new appearance, Olive was sure that the vain shrew had used a glamour or a beauty potion. She reluctantly agreed that, without the scar, Greene looked far better – but she was still an attention seeking, rude cow. She had blatantly implied that she wasn't faithful to her betrothed, in front of Cygnus too. That had caused a nasty bump in her plans for the future.

Marriages were not arranged due to love – not in pureblood tradition, anyway. She and Cygnus had been betrothed since third year, when the Head of the Lestrange family decided that his grandson needed a nice, pureblooded trophy wife. Olive had happily agreed to the arrangement, because the Lestrange family was a respectable, pure House. She didn't mind being a shiny trophy wife, as long as it helped get her family off her back.

No one apart from Olive herself knew that her family wasn't as happy with her as she pretended they were. Her mother was a strict, uptight woman who spent almost all her time crafting Olive into the perfect lady. Her father, on the other hand, spent all his time at the Ministry, and frequently forgot that he actually had a daughter. Her grandparents, the Heads of the Noble House of Hornby, constantly tested Olive to see if she was worthy to be the heiress of the family fortune.

Unfortunately for Olive, she wasn't the perfect, pureblooded girl that her family wanted. She wasn't smart, and she barely passed her exams at the end of each year. Her tutors almost gave up on her and the only reason she went back to Hogwarts each year was because of the seventh year Ravenclaw whose father owed her family a life debt.

The only thing that made her noticeable were her looks. As this was Olive's only strength, she worked on it almost all the time, to try to make up for her other, useless talents. Otherwise, she would just be a nobody. And no Slytherin ever wanted to be a nobody.

Now, in her OWL year, her family had threatened her with disownment if she didn't do well in school. Olive knew that she would probably be a disappointment to her parents anyway, so to escape from the pressure of her family she planned to marry Cygnus. The title of Madam Lestrange would earn her respect and get her grandparents to stop pestering her.

However, she still couldn't help her infatuation with the dreamy Tom Riddle, who was _absolutely perfect_. The only she couldn't date him was because that she was already engaged.

Oh, how she wished she could go to the ball with Tom.

* * *

It was the night of the Christmas Ball.

The Great Hall looked beautiful, with glittering tinsel strung up magically across the ceiling, and holly decorating the halls of Hogwarts. The House tables had been banished to who-knows-where and the bare ground had been transformed into a formal dance floor. Only fourth years and above were allowed to go to the ball – the juniors had their own Christmas feast and carnival. Dippet, as confused and forgetful as he was, did love to throw balls.

Lining the sides of the Hall were drinks and some snacks, and at the front was a stage. At about 8 o'clock, the students, all dressed up, started streaming in. The room began to fill up with dozens of different shades and colours. Olive sneered at the cheap clothing others were wearing, compared to her expensive dress. She looped her arm (reluctantly) through Cygnus' and together they strode to the middle of the dance floor, just as the orchestra on stage began a steady waltz.

Out of the corner of Olive's eye, she saw Tom striding into the room as if he owned it. His deep dark green, almost black, robes swirled around him as he passed a group of swooning girls, the acne ridden Myrtle Thomas among them. Olive felt a spark of jealousy and glared at the girls, before turning back to Cygnus, making a mental note to hex the Thomas mudblood tomorrow. She guided them towards the snack table, where Cygnus gladly went to feast upon some cauldron cakes. She scrunched her nose up in disgust of his horrid manners, before pouring herself a drink and sipping at the punch…

…and immediately spitting it back out into the goblet. The punch was spiked with the sweet taste of Firewhiskey. She should know, when she was seven she had broken into the wine cupboard and tried some of her father's best Firewhiskey. She had quite the punishment after that, too.

It was quite a strong dose of Firewhiskey, judging by the woozy look in Cygnus' eyes, but it was subtle enough so that people who had never drunken it before wouldn't notice it until it was too late. Olive was about to warn the others, but then decided against it. Not her problem if they got drunk and made a fool out of themselves. Perhaps some blackmail material could be collected tonight. She watched as Tom drank some punch as well, and smirked as he came to the same conclusion. Of course Tom had drunken Firewhiskey before, and for some reason it made her like him even more. But as he turned around to greet someone, she narrowed her eyes. The horrible witch just _had_ to ruin her night, didn't she? It was The Mudblood, and she grudgingly agreed that the Ravenclaw looked splendid. Olive scowled.

Actually, she could use some of that alcohol now.

* * *

Tom scowled as he recognized the ridiculously large dose of Firewhiskey in the punch. Really, whose brilliant idea was that? He set his cup down, ignoring Olive's dreamy gaze, and turned to the double doors. He scanned the various pairs coming down the stairs, and silently ridiculed each costume. After a few minutes, though, he saw Morgana come down.

Tom's eyes softened, almost imperceptibly, as he surveyed his childhood friend's appearance.

Morgana was wearing an emerald green gown which reached down to her ankles. It wasn't extravagant, like Hornby's ornamented red one, or too simple, like poor Eileen Prince's plain white dress. It had a gleaming gold trim, soft green silk and a certain shape that showed off her body. Tom smirked at her and wiggled his eyebrows, and Morgana blushed back. Her blue eyes flitted to the side, avoiding his steady gaze. However, Tom scowled as Davies came up to her and looped his arm through hers.

Before he had gotten around to asking Morgana (_while trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head, reminding him that Tom Riddle did not beg or ask anything of anyone_) the Quidditch Captain had strutted up to her and asked her to accompany him to the Christmas Ball. Morgana, to his utter disbelief, had accepted gracefully, leaving Tom to sulk – no, not sulk – glower and resist the urge to hex the stupid oaf. As if knowing about his anger, Morgana continued to try to avoid Tom and his wrath.

Neither of them had enjoyed the fierce, heated argument that came the day after. Tom had angrily stomped off to the Chamber of Secrets, which he had discovered in the year before. He had frequent talks with the Basilisk, and he had been biding his time before striking. The only reason he had put it off until now was because of Morgana. She was both an obstacle and an ally in this noble task of his. Yes, she was smart and pretty, but she was also a Mudblood.

She was his own personal puzzle to solve, his dilemma.

Tom did not like this strange feeling bubbling up in his chest. It made him want to curse Davies to the end of the Earth and back, and then grab Morgana's hand and whisk her into a dance, where they would… He banished all thoughts of it out of his head, scowling deeply. Emotions – what a troublesome thing. How could all those foolish idiots bear it?

When he graduated, Tom thought viciously, he wouldn't let pitiful _emotions_ bar his rise to power in the Wizarding World. He tried to convince himself that his desire to stay at Hogwarts after graduation was just a stepping stone to build up his ring of influence, not some emotion called longing. Was this what he was feeling now? Longing?

Tom Marvolo Riddle wanted power. He was a Slytherin – the heir of Slytherin, in fact. Didn't he deserve power? He would use this advantage to gain the respect and admiration of all those little snakes in his house. He didn't care how he gained power – as long as he had enough of it to last for his long, long lifetime.

The purebloods were a good ally, he mused. They wanted pro-pureblood laws in place, and to get rid of all the Muggleborns in the world. Tom did not necessarily _agree_ with all that propaganda – he was a half-blood himself, even if others did not really know – but if he had to, he would support it to gain the approval and financial support of the purebloods, who held influential positions in the Ministry and beyond.

Now, Tom sneered at the pair on the dance floor and walked off to find someone to dance with. He spotted Hornby gazing longingly at him and shuddered. Wasn't she already engaged? She didn't look too happy with Cygnus – he would never understand why she agreed to the arrangement. Oh well, not his problem anyway.

He spotted Myrtle Thomas gazing at him and scowled mentally. Fan girls. Sometimes he wished he could just curse the whole lot of them and feed them to the Basilisk. However, on the outside, no one could tell Tom was thinking such dangerous thoughts. He simply smirked mischievously and waltzed up to a group of swooning fifth year girls, delighting in the look of despair on Thomas' face. "Care to dance?" He watched, amused and slightly horrified, as Minerva McGonagall fluttered her lashes and blushed.

This was going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

Morgana grinned as Sam twirled her around the dance floor.

This Ball was actually turning out to be quite fun. Fiona had giggled when the red-faced Quidditch Captain asked Morgana to the Christmas Ball, about a week before the Ball. Morgana had accepted without a thought, because, really, she did own the Captain after he convinced the rest of the House that it wasn't her fault that the Quidditch match turned out the way it did.

He was quite popular – but, unfortunately, he seemed to be under the delusion that she liked him. She decided to let him have his night of fun and merriment, before bursting his bubble tomorrow. Who was she to ruin the night?

Fiona had helped out with transfiguring her dress. The hyperactive brunette lent her one of her old gowns that she didn't fit into anymore, and Morgana had transfigured the plain blue gown into the green fabric that she was wearing now. Her friend (she had gotten used to called Fiona that, although when she was annoyed she would always called her _minion_ in her mind) was going with George Macmillan.

Now, _that_, she had not expected – she thought they liked each other like a brother loved a sister. Apparently she was wrong. Morgana shook the thought out of her head as Sam dipped her into a steep dive.

Morgana tried to avoid the piercing eyes of Tom in the background. He had glared at her as she accepted Sam's invitation, and to her surprise, she read jealousy in his gaze. Morgana mused over it as they finished over their waltz and headed to the refreshments table.

Why would Tom Riddle have the emotion of jealousy, the emotion that he scorned so much?

At the time, she was certain that she had misread Tom, and that he was not in any way jealous of Sam or anyone. Now, she wasn't so sure. _What exactly was Tom to her?_ she wondered. She forced down the blush coming up as she remembered his gaze, full of desire, appraising her on the staircase.

Blushing? She must be going soft.

Sam beamed at her, his ruffled reddish-brownish hair even messier on his head as he clutched a goblet in his hand. He handed it to her and she gladly took it. "Cheers," he said, clinking a second punch-filled cup with hers. They both downed their punch, and Morgana frowned. "Is it just me or does the punch taste funny?" Sam blinked slowly and shrugged. Morgana watched as he wobbled towards the dance floor, and she joined him. Horror dawned on the small corner of her mind that wasn't intoxicated.

She was drunk. Dammit. _There goes my night._

Sam began a sort of drunken dance, not really moving in any particular pattern. Morgana giggled as the intoxicated Sam swung her around, almost hitting Fiona in the process – who also happened to be drunk. In fact, after only a couple of hours, almost everyone in the Great Hall had drunk the spiked punch, including the teachers. The Christmas Ball became a mass of chaotic, underage, drunken students.

The only ones who weren't drunk were Tom and Olive, who had detected the Firewhiskey and spat it out, neither of whom found it necessary to warn anyone beforehand. Curiously, Charlus Potter was not drunk either. Instead, the Gryffindor was cowering under the glare of his very angry date, who he had forgotten to warn about the punch that he spiked.

Sam spun her around again, attracting unwanted attention. Morgana groaned as she saw Tom approaching, his eyes alight with fire and his mouth set in a thin, disapproving line. Why did he always have to interrupt her when she was with her friends? She wondered if this was all a dream.

After that, she couldn't really remember anything through the thick fog that descended over her mind and mouth.

**Hope you liked that! As always, review and follow!**

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	19. The Ball (Part 2)

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter.**

**Sorry for the wait. I had (and still have) writer's block. Thanks to all the people who are reviewing/liking/reading this story - you keep me going!**

**Long awaited romance bit here. Really, I'm not too good at writing romantic scenes: I'm just writing this for the plot and the joy of writing Morgana and Tom. Sounds cheesy, yeah, but it's true. Anyway, here's the Christmas Ball: Part II. Kinda short - okay, very short - but I did my best. Enjoy!**

The Christmas Ball had officially been ruined.

Tom sneered at the drunken mass of students attempting to dance. Pitiful! As he leant on a nearby pillar, watching students come and go, drinking the punch, he smirked. He saw several people (including Morgana) who tasted the Firewhiskey in the drink. He snickered at the confused frown on her face as she drank from her goblet. However, the spiked punch, with plenty of Firewhiskey dosed in, was down their throats before they could spit it out or question it – rendering them drunk. He noted Olive Hornby in the corner, sober, smirking as she squeezed some juicy gossip out of the intoxicated Margaret Skeeter.

He watched on as Skeeter was eventually knocked to the ground by a Gryffindor attempting to fly. In fact, almost everyone in the hall was staggering around with the Firewhiskey in their stomachs. The teachers were also drunk – they had been one of the first to down the punch.

Even, he noted with disgust, Sam Davies was staggering around the Hall in a twisted version of the waltz, tugging Morgana behind him. Unlike him, she looked sober – but he could tell by the glazed look in her blue eyes that she had drank the punch too. She was just naturally cool and composed like that.

He scowled angrily as Davies spun her around, knocking down half a dozen people in the process. Idiot! He was going to take someone's eye out soon. Tom strode forth, brushing the people clamoring for his attention aside like ants, and smoothly walked between Sam Davies and Morgana Greene. He firmly separated Morgana from the Quidditch Captain, pushing the latter away. "Mind if I cut in?"

It was a rhetorical question, and Tom really hoped that his stern tone conveyed that to the stupid Ravenclaw.

"Shhure…" Davies slurred, winking at Morgana then swaggering towards the door, crashing into a table. Tom rolled his eyes and Morgana giggled. "Hey Tom," she mumbled. He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I think I'm drunk," she whispered. He groaned – now Morgana too? Oh well, at least she was coherent, unlike her dance partner who lay slumped in the corner, muttering nonsense to himself.

In the background, he saw Hornby smirking. "Not proper, Greene! You disgusting Mu-" She never got to finish her sentence as Morgana sent out a Stunner. The black haired witch glared at the unconscious Hornby. "Take that," she grumbled. Tom chuckled, amused, and dragged the tipsy girl out of the mess of the Christmas Ball.

So much for Dippet's merry night.

"Come on," he ordered brusquely. "I'm taking you back to the Ravenclaw Dormitories – before you get too drunk and fall asleep in the Great Hall," he added. Morgana snickered and let him drag her to through the empty corridors. Tom listened to her ramble as he took her hand gently and navigated her through the halls. He tried to ignore the tingles he got when his long, cold fingers came into contact with her soft, warm skin. Morgana leaned against him and let her thick dark hair brush against his neck.

"You have very pretty eyes, you know?" she said suddenly. Tom froze for a nanosecond. _It's the Firewhiskey talking_, he told himself and quickened his pace. (That annoying little voice in his head smirked at him. _Are you sure?_ Tom gave it a mental slap.) He wasn't good at emotions, especially those from the opposite gender. Tom kept his cool, though, and his pace didn't slow for a second.

Morgana, her head foggy, smiled and her head drooped onto his shoulder, dragging her feet along the floor. Unsure, Tom didn't know whether to let it stay there or to shrug it off. Some part of his brain enjoyed the contact, though – so, against his better judgment, he let it lie there. Morgana continued talking, the alcohol still clouding her mind. The words came out of her mouth slurred and unrefined.

"Your eyes – they're so green, like a forest. Or a green slime ball." (Here, Tom winced at the description of his eyes compared to slime.) "And you're way taller than you were when we were seven. Remember that? Us two just in the orphanage." She chuckled, and Tom couldn't help but think back to the days when they were practicing magic by themselves, ignorant of the Wizarding World.

Morgana grinned wickedly, interrupting his nostalgic thoughts. "You know, one day I'm going to rule the world."

Tom blinked – that was unexpected. "Morgana, you're rambling." Although entertaining the notion would be quite fun. One day, _he_ was going to rule the world. And everybody would bow down to him.

She smirked unrepentantly. "Nope. You know how I'm gonna take over the world?"

"Enlighten me," replied an amused Tom.

"I'm gonna train a bunch of dragons to take over England. And Britain. And they'll scorch the whole lot of those ignorant sheep down."

She was definitely rambling. Really? Train a bunch of dragons? That idea would never work. Tom chuckled as they reached Ravenclaw Tower, far away from the noisy, chaotic Great Hall. He wrapped a long bony arm around her and lifted her, carrying her up the stairs. She was lighter than he could have expected. Tom made sure that no one else was around to see this… spectacle – he could not have his reputation soiled. _This is a special case_, he reminded himself. Tom began to climb up the staircase of Ravenclaw Tower, cursing the dozens of steep steps ahead of him. His best friend's body weighed heavily in his arms.

To his eternal embarrassment, Morgana kept talking. "You're a really good friend," she said, her voice slurred. "Well, as friendly as a cold psychopath can be. I mean, like, nice. I dunno. You know what I mean." Tom clambered up the long winding staircase, trying to ignore his heart as Morgana spoke. She was his best friend, for Merlin's sake – and Tom Riddle did not do… whatever he was doing right now. "Right," he said to the intoxicated Morgana. Her entire cool composure was gone, leaving a vulnerable and kind side to Morgana that Tom had never seen. He wasn't sure whether he liked the open, rambling Morgana or the closed, intelligent Morgana more.

She was currently blinking sleepily – the Firewhiskey was kicking in. Unlike some Muggle beers, which made people do crazy and ridiculous things, Wizarding Beer made magical people feel sleepy. It also made people get very sentimental and talk a lot. This was what Morgana was currently doing. "I think I like you," she blurted out. Tom blinked and froze, almost dropping her. Had he misheard?

Nope. The thing was, these words had been said many, many times to him, from dozens of different hopeful girls. It was strange, almost funny, how Morgana's mouth could twist five simple words into a sentence full of meaning.

His mouth dry, Tom just nodded. She was just drunk. Morgana would probably have forgotten about everything in the morning. He kept climbing up the stairs. Morgana groaned and smirked at him. "Do you like me?" she asked, her words slurred.

Curse Morgana's intoxicated state. He now definitely knew which side of the witch he liked more.

Her piercing, intense blue eyes gazed into his green ones. Even drunk, she could still look serious. "Do you?" she asked, louder. He winced at her loud volume and shushed her. Still, she continued to stare at him, unblinking, waiting for his reply. Tom scowled at the bluntness of her question – Morgana seemed to have a bit of Gryffindor in her. Maybe that was why she wasn't in Slytherin. "I suppose so," he murmured.

No, that was _not_ a blush on his cheeks.

Finally they reached the top of the Tower, at the brass knocker. Tom sighed in relief: thank Merlin that was the end of the awkward conversation. Morgana slipped out of his grasp. "I can go myself, thanks," she slurred. Her eyelids were closing. Tom frowned as the Firewhiskey had Morgana in its clutches. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, looking right into her blue eyes. Yep – definitely out of it.

"Are you sure?" he asked dubiously. Morgana staggered to her feet, still facing him. "Yeah," she mumbled, and looked right into his eyes with that piercing gaze of hers. Tom tried not to blink. She smirked at him lopsidedly. "Has anyone ever told you that you have really pretty eyes?" His heart beat wildly as her head tilted upwards to face his.

With that, she leant forwards and kissed him.

Tom blinked in shock as her soft lips pressed against his. This wasn't exactly his first kiss – oh no, he had used romantic tactics before to squeeze information out of people – but it was his first kiss that he had not initiated – and the first kiss that he actually _enjoyed_. Looking back, he could see that he was actually waiting for it to happen.

Oh well, no time like the present.

He leant forwards and responded happily. He moved his mouth against hers gently, heart hammering in his chest. He tasted the tangy flavor of fresh fruit and sweet Firewhiskey in her lips, reminding him of their summers back in the orphanage. It burnt and tingled all at the same time, her warm lips against his cold ones.

Morgana moaned softly… before drooping off to sleep. The Firewhiskey had finally surged through all her veins, and her brain had shut down after its first time of consuming alcohol.

So much for a romantic kiss.

**Please review! I live for them. Let's see if we can get this to ten reviews in the first few days!**


	20. The Voice In The Walls

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not and will never be mine.**

**Hi again. Thanks for the awesome reviews - a couple of them made me laugh. This chapter may seem like a filler, but it is quite important to the plot. Enjoy!**

Morgana groaned as the sunlight hit her face. A massive headache was building up at the back of her head, and as much as she tried to block the light with her pillow it didn't work. Where was she?

Rolling out of bed, she groaned as she recognized the blue carpet of the Ravenclaw Dorms. Crawling out of the soft comfort of her bed, she stumbled towards the bathroom. Splashing her face in the sink, Morgana grumbled as the cold water hit her skin. Her dark hair was in a mess, her stomach felt like it had been through a hurricane, and all she felt like doing was crawling into a dark hole and dying. Not bothering to brush her teeth, she gargled some water and emptied her supply of Pepper Up Potion and Hangover Relief.

Morgana blinked at the girls in the dorm. Fiona was sprawled across her sheets, snoring. Megan was fast asleep in her bed, and so was Stella. All three looked like they had been Levitated into bed by a careless caster, and they all looked like they were knocked out. She realized suddenly that she was still in her emerald gown, and so was everyone else. Actually, she couldn't remember falling asleep yesterday night.

Yesterday night… Merlin, what a blur. Morgana remembered a few flashes of dancing, jumping and giggling, but that was about it. The headache was making it so hard to think. The Pepper Up Potion was helping, but she still felt tired and irritable. Trying her hardest, Morgana peered into the dark abyss of her memories, attempting to remember what exactly took place last night.

Oh, that's right. The punch had been spiked.

Sam had gotten drunk, as had everyone at the Ball. She laughed out loud as she imagined Dippet's expression when he found all the seniors unconscious or drunken. After that, she couldn't really recall what happened later. Crossing the room, Morgana shook Fiona awake.

"Go 'way," mumbled Fiona into her pillow. "Gah… the light…" Morgana sneered and poked Fiona again. "Morgana? That you?" Her friend groaned into her pillow. "What happened last night? I had the weirdest dream… we were dancing and everything…" Fiona drifted back to sleep. She jabbed at her a few more times, but the brunette was completely out of it. Morgana gave up and sat on her own bed. Dreaming… she had had a strange dream as well. Tom had carried her up a staircase and when they got to the end, he had… kissed her?

Wait, kissed her? What was _wrong_ with that twisted imagination of hers?

Morgana blushed as she remembered her fuzzy dream. Why exactly would she dream of it? Did it mean something? Did it actually happen? Was it just her overactive imagination? Did she even want it? She groaned again, collapsing down on her messy bed. _Look at me, obsessing over dreams like a dramatic, angsty teenage girl,_ she sneered at herself, but she couldn't help thinking about the kiss like it was reality.

She shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Before _this_, Tom had just been a friend. A very good friend, in fact, that she had known for a long time, but simply that. A friend. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Usually, Morgana wouldn't hesitate to just take what she desired. If it were anyone else that she liked (as if), she would simply go out with them for about a week and then dump them when she got bored. Boys were better as toys – if she ever fell in love, she would probably get too attached. And then she'd lose them again, just like she lost everyone she knew five years ago.

But this wasn't just some boy with good looks or blinding smiles. No, this was Tom, an entirely different side of the spectrum.

Tom was, in public, the perfect gentleman, the smartest of them all, and the tall, dark, handsome leader of Slytherin. Girls and boys alike admired him, looked up to him. Even the teachers fawned over Tom. But Morgana had seen the dark side of his nature, his fierce, conniving, dangerous magic weaving fear and respect throughout his followers – the side others had never seen before.

She wasn't _too_ scared of Tom. Sure, he had his moments of anger and a vengeful side, but she would never bend for him through fear – but maybe, there was a small chance that she would through respect. He was the only one she really did respect as an equal, after being with him for so long. So, she told herself, it was understandable that she had feelings for him.

But he was her best friend. What if didn't reciprocate her feelings for him, or maybe just had platonic feelings for her? Their long lasting relationship (as friends) would be shredded into tiny pieces if that happened. Morgana, as much as she hated depending on people, knew she didn't want to let go of this friendship.

But what if he did? If Tom actually returned her affections they could become so _powerful_. They would respected greatly – the Darker side of Hogwarts bowing before Tom, and the Lighter side of Hogwarts bending before her. They would be _invincible_. Together.

Morgana groaned – she was probably overthinking this. Tom was an emotionless, empty, icy person – why would he ever like anyone? She decided that she would just continue as normal, following her daily routine around him. No need to let him know what she was thinking.

Pushing her confused feelings aside, Morgana went down to the Great Hall with a clear head, leaving the rest of the drunken Ravenclaws behind. She snorted as she thought of how the stuck up prefects would react when they discovered they had been drunk last night.

Morgana turned the corner and entered the desolate Great Hall.

The majestic hall had been fixed up from last night's partying. The junior years were all there, because they hadn't been allowed to attend the Ball. Instead they had a carnival, and now the midgets were whispering rumors about the drunken seniors. Morgana ignored them and sat at the Ravenclaw table, right next to the Slytherin table, where Tom was seated.

Strangely, he didn't look sleepy or nauseous at all, unlike everyone else she had seen in her year that day.

The seats at the tables were mostly deserted, as many were still snoozing in their beds. The professors must have had to levitate everyone who passed out back – no wonder Fiona looked like she had been dumped onto her bed. Some seniors were also there along with her, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and groaning at the sunlight. Morgana turned to Tom, where he was sitting on the bench behind her.

"Morning," she yawned, grumbling a little at the headache at the back of her mind. It had been subdued by the Pepper Up Potion and the Hangover Potion, but it still throbbed in an annoying buzz. Morgana picked at her food, feeling nauseated at the smell of freshly baked bread. Tom surveyed her appearance.

"You look horrible," he said.

She scowled. It was true – there were still dark circles under her eyes and her hair was in a frizz. "Thanks, Tom," she muttered, stabbing her sandwich. _Oh, yuck, there's cheese. I hate cheese_. The smell made her sway slightly in nausea, but she kept her spine upright for appearance's sake. Tom noticed (of course he did) but he didn't comment.

Instead, he eyed her in a casual manner – which meant that he was definitely up to something. He was, after all, a sneaky Slytherin. And judging by that look on his face, Tom wanted information from her.

"What do you remember from last night?"

Tom shifted as Morgana blinked at him. "Why do you want to know? Does it matter?" she asked nervously. Was she _supposed_ to remember something?

He tilted his head, dark eyes piercing hers, as if he could see through to her soul. "Maybe," he replied, that velvety voice flowing out of his mouth. Morgana tensed imperceptibly, trying to ignore her heart, which had suddenly sped up, thumping in her chest at his gaze. "Not much," she admitted. "Why aren't you sprawled across your bed, sleeping off your hangover?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"It's _eleven_ in the morning, Morgana. You woke up late, but at least you woke up earlier than everyone else. Besides, do you really think _I_ would get drunk?" She reddened at the scorn in his voice. No, of course the _wonderful_ Tom Riddle could never get drunk. _She_ fallen for the spiked punch, though, like the rest of the fools here. A sudden thought occurred to her.

"I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?" _Like kiss you?_

His eyes gleamed with an unidentified emotion, and he turned his full attention to her, staring into her blue eyes, searching for a hidden meaning. "Maybe," Tom said again, vaguely. "What do you remember?"

"I told you, not much. Most of it's blurry, and they all involve lots of spinning."

Tom _hmmed_ and said nothing. He sipped at his tea and she wondered if he was waiting for something. But then, what was there to say? An awkward silence descended upon them. Morgana fidgeted nervously – that kiss was just a dream, right?

_Right?_

Abruptly, Tom stood up, abandoning his half eaten breakfast – lunch – and started heading towards the doors. Morgana, surprised, ignored her cheese sandwich and called after him. "Hey – Tom – where're you going?" He kept walking, back stiff. "To enjoy this short break. Explore Hogwarts and all that. The professors gave us a day off to get the Firewhiskey out of our systems."

She sat there, surprised by the sudden coldness and abruptness of his departure. This day was getting weirder by the second. "Tom – wait – what? You've been here for five years, what do you mean, _explore Hogwarts_? What about the person who spiked the punch? And what's this about a short holiday?" Morgana grabbed his arm and yanked him back, not caring about the consequences.

He turned around, eyes flashing, features cold and set in stone. Although, to the rest of the students, he appeared calm and poised, she could tell that he was annoyed. Morgana wondered if she'd stepped over the line with her persistent questions. She glared at him. _Answer me, Tom, or else… _He said nothing for a moment, then scowled and replied.

"The professors gave us the day off, although I doubt anyone will really make use of it, as all the fools are still sleeping. Charlus Potter has paid for that foolish trick of his with removed Hogsmeade privileges and is currently serving detention with Dumbledore." Tom answered sharply, and immediately exited the Great Hall.

Morgana didn't have a chance to ask him any more questions, and as she picked at her food, she realized Tom had never fully answered her question about where he was going. She debated following him, but she eventually stayed at the table.

Morgana knew when she was wanted and when she wasn't.

* * *

The next day, when everyone else was back to normal, Morgana sat with Fiona. Tom wasn't at breakfast today, and she briefly wondered why. She dismissed the thought, and went back to her toast. The Great Hall enjoyed a small spectacle, when a Howler from Mr. and Mrs. Potter arrived via owl.

The smoking red letter screamed at the cowering Gryffindor, hollering about 'lion pride' and 'family disgrace', and the Slytherins snickered at his visible discomfort. She laughed at the terrified expression on Charlus Potter's face at his mother's threat to 'take away his broom'. _Boys and their Quidditch_.

As she was walking to Herbology, she stopped suddenly. _Sssss… _Morgana looked around, confused. She could have sworn that she heard a voice, hissing in Parseltongue. It wasn't Tom – his voice was far smoother and deeper. This new voice was higher, and rasped the syllables, as if it hadn't spoken for a long time.

Morgana frowned. "Hey, Fiona? Do you hear something?" Fiona wrinkled her nose at her. "Um… yes. I hear you talking, me responding, the Hufflepuffs gossiping and George yelling at me from across the corridor." Morgana rolled her eyes. "No, I _mean_, anything apart from that?" The brunette shrugged, clearly eager to get to George.

Sighing, Morgana told Fiona to go ahead. The brunette happily agreed. _Good minion_. Listening carefully, wishing she could just silence the noisy crowd of Hufflepuffs chattering, she slipped into an alcove and pressed her ear against the cold stone, trying to look inconspicuous. A group of Gryffindors looked at her strangely as they passed by, and she flushed red, but she ignored them.

For a few minutes, she heard nothing, but as she was about to dismiss the voice as a trick of the mind, Morgana detected a faint hiss, up ahead. Through the thick stone walls, however, she couldn't tell who the voice belonged to. The bell rung, and she cursed, wavering between going to class and following the mysterious Parselmouth. Eventually she decided to track the voice, damn Herbology.

_Ssss… Rip… tear… kill…_ Morgana's heart leapt into her throat. What was she doing, chasing after a bodiless, murderous voice like a Gryffindor? _Ssss… Rip… tear… KILL… Rip… tear… kill…_ Morgana rolled her eyes. How creative – the voice seemed to only know those three words. But just because it was limited in vocabulary didn't mean it wasn't dangerous.

Judging by the scratchiness and hissing quality of the voice, Morgana decided that it was either a _very_ thirsty Parselmouth – or a hungry snake. Immediately dismissing the first (_really, how many Parselmouths were there in Hogwarts?_), she deduced that it was, in fact, a snake. But if it was indeed a serpent, then where was it?

Scanning the corridor with suspicious eyes, she bit her lip as she saw nothing out of the ordinary. The stone floor was the same as ever, and the torches burned in the dim sunlight, not a single hair out of place, but the hissed threats continued. _Rip… tear… kill… KILL…_

Morgana shuddered and crept along the wall, following the voice. Down to the second floor, through the Transfiguration corridor, past the bathrooms… Morgana froze. The voice had stopped. How far had she gone? Listening, sure that whoever it was could hear her heartbeat thumping away, she confirmed that the voice was gone. Where was it? And why was it in the second-floor bathrooms? She crept further into the dirty room, but jumped when she heard a voice behind her.

"Morgana?"

**Ooh, cliffhanger! Hope you enjoyed that. As always, review! Reviews make me smile and keep me off my writer's block. :)**


	21. The Chamber of Secrets

**Disclaimer: Yeah, Harry Potter isn't mine. Stop rubbing salt in the wounds!**

**I'm back again! School's about to end, but the entire family is taking a vacation to the middle of nowhere, so I'm afraid this story won't be updated for a _long_ while. However, I thought I might as well dish out another chapter and not leave you hanging off the cliff from the last chapter. Enjoy!**

Breath caught in her throat, eyes wide, she spun around. A pair of concerned green eyes stared at her, and she relaxed – it was just Tom. "Are you alright?" he asked, stepping closer. She breathed in deeply, brushing her hair out of eyes, trying to calm her heartbeat down. "Yeah," she attempted a weak smile. "Just… err, exploring Hogwarts?" Her excuse came out as more of a question that a statement, and she winced at the sheer transparency of it. She needed to brush up on her lying skills.

Tom looked disbelieving and furrowed his brow. Morgana tried to ignore the frantic beating of her pulse at his close proximity, and she edged backwards. He tilted his head, annoyed. "What?" She blinked, clearing her head of her puzzling dream and ignoring the appealing curve of his lips and tiny crease marks under his eyes. "Nothing," she muttered. Morgana cursed her stupid hormones.

"Why are you here? I thought you said you were going…" She trailed off as she realized Tom had never specifically said where he was going. Tom's features turned suspicious at the sudden change of subject, and his voice was cold and harsh as he dutifully replied. "None of your business."

Morgana frowned. What was up with the sudden mood swings? And the strange behaviour Tom was exhibiting around her? He was very cold today, and secretive. Knowing not to delve too deep into the abyss of Tom's incredibly fast and dark thoughts (she would never be able to keep up, despite being almost as Slytherin as him), she simply nodded and turned away.

Skiving off Herbology, and waving off Fiona's worried frets, Morgana tried to push the strange encounter out of her mind. She joined the group of fifth year Ravenclaws to DADA class, and settled down for another day of boring classes. Merrythought had told the class to practice their Patronuses, and now Morgana could successfully cast it without a Cheering Charm, although it took considerable effort and time to master it.

To her surprise, Tom couldn't cast the Light spell. He had tried and tried, yet despite his best efforts only white, cloudy mist spluttered out of his yew wand. It was a sore subject for him. She sat down at the wooden desk and twirled her quill between her fingers, bored. Looking around, Morgana watched the green and silver students come into the room, searching for Tom. Abraxas, Cygnus, Hornby and Alphard all came in, snootily ignoring the Ravenclaws, as usual. But as the bell rang, Tom Riddle was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

All day, Tom continued to skive off classes. She could see the point – they weren't exactly learning anything new that he hadn't read about/she hadn't been _taught_ by Grindelwald – but he had always had a strict work ethic. Tom would never ruin his perfect record unless something major came up. Morgana practically ran out the door to find him during break, but she never saw hide nor hair of Tom. He wasn't at Arithmancy or Ancient Runes, either. As the day passed by, Morgana grew more and more worried. No one had seen Tom since lunch.

Finally, just as Morgana was about to get up from her lonely dinner and run out of the Great Hall to find him, Tom sauntered through the doors and sat down at the Slytherin Table, as if nothing was wrong. To her immense dissatisfaction, he sat away from her, as if he couldn't be seen with her. Tom sat down with the rest of the pampered, prejudiced pureblood brats, talking politics and opinions and emitting a powerful aura, drawing nearby Slytherins in with his charisma – while totally ignoring Morgana. She narrowed her eyes at him angrily, willing for him to sit up and notice her. But apparently his precious reputation did not allow him to. _Come on, Tom,_ she thought. _Reputation, my foot._

After a dinner of fruitless hissing and glaring to try to attract Tom's attention, Morgana the rest of the Ravenclaws in sweeping out of the Great Hall. The crowd of students murmured and laughed as they moved through the cold stone corridors. She stopped for a while to try to talk to Tom, letting her brunette friend get ahead, but she failed to see him through the dense mass of bodies. Sighing in frustration, Morgana joined the flow again, cursing the slow Hufflepuff ahead of her. Then, unexpectedly, horrifyingly, someone up ahead screamed.

The blood froze in her veins. It was Fiona.

It was a terrifying scream, one that spoke of fear and horror and foreboding, and made the rest of the normally rowdy Hogwarts pupils freeze. The silence spread through the crowd like wildfire. The silence lasted for a couple of seconds, but it felt like hours to Morgana. What had happened? Was anyone hurt? The same train of thought was whirling around everyone else's minds now. The Gryffindors were wondering if anyone would break the silence, the Hufflepuffs were wondering if they could do anything to help, the Ravenclaws were reviewing all the defensive spells they had learnt, and the Slytherins were impassive and unemotional. The entire crowd hushed and no one dared to speak.

Morgana had never heard silence quite this loud.

Abruptly, the noiseless illusion broke as Robert Boot shoved his way through the crowd. He reached his shell-shocked sister and grabbed her. "What is it? Fiona?" he asked urgently, very much unlike the quiet, shy boy Morgana had met on her first day. It seemed that sudden, horrifying events could bring out the courage in even the most timid of people.

Edging her way to the front of the mass of students, Morgana inhaled a sharp intake of breath. Fiona was standing, trembling in front of a stone wall, her brother by her side. In front of her, painted in painstakingly neat writing, were thirteen words. They cut into Morgana's gut and twisted it like a sharp knife. Funny how just words written on a wall could terrify her so greatly.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

The words gleamed in the bright torchlight, the glistening red liquid dripping down the stone wall, looking sickeningly like blood. Worst of all, more horrifying than the fateful words, more horrifying than the thick red blood painted casually on Hogwarts' ancient walls, was the frozen shell of Septimus Weasley.

Septimus Weasley was a tall, gangly red-haired boy and numerous freckles splashed all over his face. He was a Gryffindor, naturally, and was quite famous in the House for supporting Muggles. Septimus was always found fiddling with Muggle contraptions, and he loved his new sunglasses so much that the Ravenclaws nicknamed him Red Sunglasses. However, due to his strange obsession with Muggles, he was labeled a blood traitor, and he was proud of it.

Now, the Weasley boy was seemingly frozen in time, his long arms stretched in front of him. To Morgana's slight relief, his overly large sunglasses were perched on his nose, covering his eyes, so that she wouldn't have to see the fear and shock in those orbs. Yes, she might like to see others suffer or beg before her, and she might enjoy inflicting horror or pain upon others a little more than she should, but this was just _sick_. Whoever did this was clearly someone not to cross.

An alarmed Professor Slughorn stumbled onto the scene. "Oh – my word – oh dear Merlin…" The Potions Professor heaved, large friendly face suddenly contorted into an expression of panic. His small eyes scanned the crimson writing scrawled onto the wall, and he breathed in deeply at the sight of Septimus Weasley. "Albus! Galatea! Merlin, who did this?" The Transfiguration Professor and the DADA teacher came running, footsteps echoing down the corridor, alerted by Slughorn's cries. Dumbledore's auburn beard came into sight. "Yes, Horace? Galatea and I were just coming round the bend…"

Dumbledore's voice trailed off as he saw the frozen Gryffindor, and his normally kindly tone vanished. Reading the writing on the wall with a deceptively calm face, he turned around and issued commands. "Galatea," he said firmly, rousing the shocked DADA professor into action. "The poor girl, if you will?" "Of course," murmured Professor Merrythought, gently steering Fiona to the hospital wing. Morgana shuddered at the ashen face and wide brown eyes as they passed her by. "Take care," she mouthed to Robert Boot, who nodded. It was strange, how she felt obliged to come to Fiona's aid, when the girl became more than just an accomplice.

"Back to your dormitories, everyone. Prefects, I expect you keep the students calm. Professors, stay here," the auburn bearded man said. Gone was the kind, eccentric Professor that taught first years to transfigure matchsticks into needles. Instead, a strong, weary yet powerful warrior replaced him. Morgana shivered as she remembered that this was the man who scared Gellert Grindelwald. Nodding mutely with the rest of the students, she followed the shaken Prefects to her dormitory.

As she walked through the sudden intimidating dark halls, Morgana snuck a peek at Tom. Unsurprised, she saw that he was as calm as ever, a steady rock in the stormy sea. But his expression was slightly off, and Morgana saw Dumbledore stare suspiciously at Tom again. Tom looked calm, with just the right amount of shock, surprise and horror in his face. Just like he always did. Nothing strange about that.

But Morgana knew him. She had known him since she was a child in a cold orphanage, and she knew how to interpret his miniscule facial expressions. He had gotten better at lying and disguising his emotions though, and Morgana was frustrated to see that she couldn't read him like she used to. However, a small twitch of the mouth revealed that Tom wanted to smile.

Was he behind this?

_Nonsense_, her mind told her. _He knows you're a Muggleborn. He wouldn't hurt you._ Morgana bit her lip. Tom was probably just smiling because of Dumbledore's aggrieved expression. He hated the Transfiguration Professor with a passion. She tried to wave away the doubt, but a few strands still lingered.

She felt a red flush creep up her neck as Tom turned to her, noticing her stare. He raised an eyebrow and Morgana forced down a furious blush, cursing her emotions. She could see why he preferred cold, precise work to confusing sentiments. Emotions to intellect. It made life far easier.

He glanced at her but avoided eye contact, before striding away, back turned towards her. Tom led the adoring Slytherins to their common room, and Morgana had no choice but to turn away and follow her own group. She couldn't help but glance back at the scene, at the worried staff and the frozen boy.

She vowed to herself that she would get to the bottom of this. For both her own safety and the school's.

**Drama up ahead! Yeah, short, but better than nothing. As always, read and review! I'm hoping for more than twenty reviews when I check next month, because that's when I come back to the world of wi-fi after holidays. So please, just type something in that box below. **

**Thanks :)**


	22. Paranoia and Letters

**Disclaimer: I no own Harry Potter.**

**I'M BAAACK! Thank you to everyone who checks up on this story - I haven't updated in ages. Some people have pointed out some important bits in the story that don't make sense, like a Muggleborn being a Parselmouth or Cygnus Lestrange being a Black in canon. All I can say is that one of them is for plot reasons and the other is because I made a mistake.**

**Enjoy!**

The next few weeks at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were… tense, to say the least.

All the little first years were huddled together in groups, never alone without at least two of their friends flanking them. The older years were almost the same, except now those who were prefects and Heads had to guard the juniors when a teacher was not around. The Hufflepuffs were blowing up even more cauldrons than usual in Potions, as their hands kept shaking and they glanced behind their shoulders constantly.

The Gryffindors were being both stupid and brave, dissing Slytherins and trying to joke about the scary message that was still on the wall. The Lions were also working even harder to beat Slytherin in the next Quidditch match. In retaliation, the Slytherins started hissing at anyone who passed by, scaring them out of their wits. Morgana was the most affected by this, because she had heard the mysterious hissing voice. During this time of fear, the green and silver snakes were strutting round the school like they owned it.

As for the Ravenclaws, Morgana's House was even more stressed than usual. The OWLS and NEWTS were coming up, and everyone was paranoid and fearful. On top of frantic studying and revising, they had to try not to get murdered too. People had already started sending letters home for their parents to pull them out of Hogwarts. Nick Abbot wasn't really helping by listing the statistics and likelihood of each person's death.

Frankly, Morgana was terrified.

She had done her research, and it turned out the Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a legendary chamber Salazar Slytherin hid at Hogwarts. Inside the Chamber lay a dormant monster that would attack whoever commanded it. Due to the strange hissing noise (and a bit of help from Ada), Morgana concluded that the monster inside the Chamber was a serpent of some sort.

_Enemies of the heir, beware_, the message had said. The Heir of Slytherin was at Hogwarts, and he (or she) was going to attack the enemies of Slytherin House: Blood Traitors and Muggleborns.

Muggleborns, such as herself.

At breakfast this morning, a stuttering Dippet had announced that Septimus Weasley had been 'Petrified'. Apparently, this meant that he was still alive, to the relief of many, but it also meant he was frozen in time. The staff were preparing a cure (Mandrake Draught) for the victims, but it would take almost one or even _two_ months to prepare.

Apart from Septimus Weasley, one more person had been Petrified, but thankfully not killed. The victim, Sally Moore, was a Muggleborn, which confirmed Morgana's suspicions. She had been found by a second year Gryffindor, who was still traumatized by the whole experience. Moore was frozen with an expression of fear and terror on her still face, tears still glistening on her pale cheeks.

Curiously, she had been found with her eyes fixated on the gleaming iron handle of her cauldron that she was carrying around. No one had been able to figure out why, but Morgana had a small nagging feeling at the back of her head.

Now, the bored Ravenclaw was stuck in the Charms classroom. The nervous substitute professor kept stopping and stammering out apologies throughout his whole lecture, so that no one could really understand him. The real Charms professor was out helping with the Chamber of Secrets crisis, along with most of their other teachers. At first it was funny, seeing the man make a fool of himself, but after five minutes Morgana was bored. Really, what was the point of Cleaning Charms if you kept dropping your wand?

She ignored the bumbling fool in favour of turning to whisper to Fiona, but then stopped as she realized Fiona was now sitting with Megan again. For the last week, her friend had been avoiding her, and now Morgana was oddly lonely without her. She had tried to talk to the brunette, but Fiona only responded with cryptic, cutting comments – totally unlike the hyperactive, happy Fiona she knew.

"Fiona!" Morgana had greeted her friend yesterday. However, the brown haired girl had quickly and bluntly turned away from her. "Sorry, Morgana, I've got potions to do. Anyway, don't you have somewhere to be?" She had then scurried off, Megan by her side, without sparing a second glance at her flabbergasted dorm mate. Morgana had been pretty sure that Slughorn hadn't set them any homework, and she couldn't for the life of her work out what Fiona was doing.

It was only until Stella Lovegood made an offhand comment yesterday that Morgana finally understood why Fiona was staying away from her. She had scoffed in disbelief when she heard it, but as time passed she could sort of see why Fiona chose to stay away.

"Fiona doesn't like you hanging out with your snakes," the blonde girl had spoken dreamily, but with an undercurrent of truth running though her words. "She thinks you'll hurt her."

Morgana had opened her mouth to protest, before realizing that she _would_ hurt Fiona if she had to. She was almost sorted into Slytherin, after all – self preservation was an instinct. Closing her mouth as the blonde strolled away, she had thought carefully about Stella's comment, dissecting each word. Eventually, she came to a logical yet ridiculous conclusion.

Fiona thought she was the one attacking Muggleborns.

As stupid as it sounded, it fit. Stella had said that Fiona didn't like her hanging out with her snakes. At first, Morgana had thought that she meant Ada, her loyal yet snarky companion. That was understandable, because Fiona did have a fear of snakes.

But then, what if, by snakes, she meant Slytherins? Yes, Morgana had been sitting with the Slytherins sometimes– okay, a lot of the time – and usually with Tom. The snakes knew she was a Muggleborn though, and even if they weren't stupid enough to insult her to her face (she had hexed Lestrange the first time he began to utter the degrading word), the insults hung heavily in the air. She knew she would never had truly fit in with the Slytherins, even if she was one at heart.

Couldn't Fiona see that?

Morgana decided not to approach her friend for now (and she no longer flinched at the word _friend_), until this whole Chamber of Secrets thing blew over. She convinced herself that Fiona was just being cautious. After all, the school had never experienced this before, this fear and terror and paranoia that sprung up through the corridors.

Anyone they touched, anyone they had a class with, any one of their own friends, could be the Heir of Slytherin. For Merlin's sake, they could be killed at any moment! The mere fact that one of them, that anyone they knew, could be responsible had set barriers of mistrust between everyone, and that included Morgana and Fiona. It was like the Blitz all over again.

This paranoia and fear struck a blow between Tom and Morgana too.

Tom was now spending so little time with her now. Morgana had been avoiding him too, afraid that he was, in fact, the heir of Slytherin.

He could speak Parseltongue, and he was in Slytherin, and he had the guts for murder – everything fit. Even on the very first night, she could see that he was the most likely candidate, considering his dark side. A tiny little voice in the back of her head (sounding a lot like Tom) nagged at her, _why can you speak Parseltongue Are you the heir Are you KILLING people without realizing it murder murder murder_, but she ignored it. Tom was the murderer, she was sure of it.

Morgana hated the way that she acted around him (_stupid dream_) and, if he really was the one killing people, she didn't know if she could bear to be with him anymore. He could kill her at any moment if she angered him in the slightest. She told herself that it was simple logic that she shouldn't associate with Tom anymore. She would only get hurt.

But that didn't mean that she didn't miss his company.

As the Charms class became even more dull, she mused over Tom's appearance. At the front, with his head up and neat uniform on, he looked like the attentive student he was supposed to be. Sometimes even Morgana forgot that he had a dark side to his perfect personality. But, as she had learnt so very well, appearances could be so deceiving.

Lately though, she thought, he had been so secretive. He rarely attended lunch nowadays, and when he did Tom never really talked to her anymore. Their last real conversation was just after the Christmas Ball. He hung around with the Pureblood Prats, as Morgana had named them in her mind, and they smirked at her when his head was turned. In Slytherin, the closer you were to Tom the higher up the hierarchy you were.

Morgana cursed the Christmas Ball and everything associated with it. That event had sort of tipped the balance of their… relationship… friendship… whatever this thing between them was. Friends became more than friends, relationships changed, and hearts were broken on that night. In fact, a few days after Christmas, Morgana had tried to confront Sam about this whole delusion he was under. It had gone too far. Playing and toying with hearts was fun, but only for a while.

He had accepted her rejection silently, and then said that he would like to continue as friends instead. Morgana had nodded happily, but she could see that Sam wanted to have more than just a platonic friendship.

Argh. Teenage drama was too much trouble than she was worth.

She stared vacantly at Fiona and Tom, wondering about the Chamber of Secrets. A sign of pureblood descent was Parseltongue (Tom was an exception – he was always an exception), but she could speak it, and she was of no such descent at all. Unless…

Was she really a Mudblood, if she could speak the noble language of the snakes? Her origin of birth was hazy, to say the least. All she knew was that she had been a common doorstep drop at the orphanage. Her parents had given her up like she was nothing; the thought always burnt at the back of Morgana's mind, keeping her striving to be the best she could be.

As the Clock Tower chimed for the end of the school day, Morgana went with the nervous blue and bronze crowd, heading up to Ravenclaw Tower. She ignored the slight pang her heart gave out as both Tom and Fiona pretended she was invisible, and climbed the steps to her dorm. Who knew friends could actually mean something?

She entered the vacant dorm and set down her homework. It could wait. Morgana lay down on her bed for a quick nap, staring up at the enchanted starry ceiling. The day had been awful enough without company and the terror of the Chamber of Secrets – she hoped the whole fiasco would end soon.

Little did she know, the day was about to go from bad to worse.

* * *

Cygnus Lestrange was also in his dorm, under the lake in the dungeons. He wasn't afraid of the Chamber of Secrets – in fact, he loved every moment of it. The cautious, paranoid glances of other students, the sheer anxiousness of the teachers, and the pure _fear_ that showed on their faces whenever they passed on of the Slytherins.

It felt like heaven.

As much as he wished it, though, Cygnus Lestrange wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. He didn't hold the power of life and death over the other, pathetic students – but he had a good idea of who did.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Tom Riddle stalked through the door, shoulders back, head held high and stride confident. _Speak of the devil_. "Good afternoon, Tom," Cygnus greeted him respectfully, before freezing and hurriedly stuttering out the _proper_ greeting.

"I mean – excuse me – good morning, _my lord_." The (probable) Heir of Slytherin didn't even glance in his direction as he swallowed his pride and groveled.

"Lestrange," Tom said shortly. His usual impeccable appearance was slightly ruffled, and his bone white wand was clenched tightly in his fist. Despite his Lord's clearly angry mood, Cygnus admired the pure dark magic radiating from his Lord – this person would be _powerful_.

But lately, he had been distracted.

Cygnus scowled at the mere memory of the muggleborn witch. She wasn't even worthy to take the name of one of the most powerful sorceresses of all time, let alone come to Hogwarts. He didn't know _why_ his Lord bothered to grace her with his presence. She was pretty – but that was obviously because of some powerful glamour that could hide her ugly scar.

This obsession with the Mudblood was completely delaying his – their – plans of magical purity. Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort – was the victorious future, and this lowly witch was pulling their glorious time away.

"Excuse me, my Lord," he said. Tom turned around, eyes flashing. "This is not a good time, Lestrange," he growled. "Make it quick."

Inside, Lestrange crowed that His Lord would give him the time of the day. He was graced with his presence! He mentally punched the mudblood in the face and bowed. "My Lord, I would like to ask how the Mudblood witch you have – ah – _befriended_, concerns our plans. She does not fit into our schemes for the Knights of Walpurgis or our futures of magical purity. I –"

"Are you questioning my decisions, Lestrange?" Tom spoke softly, cutting him off. His whisper came out almost like he was hissing. Green eyes began flashing at him.

Ignoring all the danger signs, Cygnus continued hastily. "Of course not, my lord. I was simply suggesting that you drop the Mudblood. She is not of any further use and, well, if you need a bed warmer I'm sure others would be willing–"

He never finished his sentence as his lord drew out his wand and pressed it into his Adam's Apple. Terrified, Cygnus saw that Tom's eyes were now flashing crimson. Red eyes were a rare phenomenon that happened to people who had delved too deep into the Dark Arts. Cygnus shivered as he thought of all the different Dark spells Tom could curse him with.

"Do – not – insult – Morgana – Greene – in front of me again," Tom hissed. "She may not seem essential to our plans right now, but she may have her uses later." Cygnus exhaled as he withdrew his wand and strode out of the room, the black book in his hand again.

This was clear, hard evidence to him. His Lord was being delayed, being dragged down by some pitiful witch who had ensnared him. He needed to put a stop to this nonsense.

Fortunately, he knew just the person to turn to for help.

Scrawling out a message on a scrap of spare parchment, he went up to the Owlery. It was past curfew, so Cygnus was careful not to get caught by patrolling prefects and teachers. The consequences were dire if the message he had written was read by the wrong eyes.

He clambered up the stairs into the filthy Owlery, making sure that he didn't accidently step in any mud or feathers or what looked suspiciously like dung. Scowling at the stench, he picked his way through the wide room to his own, special owl.

It was a beautiful, pitch black owl, with glowing yellow eyes and a large envelope in its sharp beak. With the ease of a practiced motion, Cygnus raised his hand and the bird stretched out its deadly sharp talons. He clipped the roll of parchment to the claws with a thin stretch of red ribbon and sent it on its way.

Although it was technically possibly for an owl to fly from Scotland to Germany, it would take a long, long time and lots of stamina. However, the owl he had just sent off was continuously fed Invigoration Draught every day. Cygnus knew his contact had also cast spells of strength and speed on the owl, so he wasn't surprised when the owl returned to him in the record time of half an hour.

Cygnus eagerly untied the parchment and read the message from his contact.

_Dear Cygnus,_

_Thank you for contacting me again. It has been far too long since we have last spoken._

_I must admit I was quite surprised to find out Riddle has befriended a muggleborn. Did you not say he was fighting for blood purity – or was I mistaken? However, the name Morgana Greene intrigues me. Morgana is a Wizarding name, and I happen to have known a Morgana Greene in my travels. We were acquaintances for five years before she disappeared, unfortunately._

_I would like you to keep an eye on Miss Greene. She is more important than you realize. However, do not allow her to be near Tom Riddle at all costs. Pour some poison down her throat if you must, but she cannot interfere._

_Now, as I understand it, you have yet another Hogsmeade trip soon. I may meet you there to have some fun, if you catch my drift._ _I'm sure the villagers will enjoy my presence, especially your friend Riddle. _

_I will see you there,_

_G._

Cygnus smiled unpleasantly. Finally, that stupid Mudblood would get what she deserved.

**Review if you think you know who G is - but no spoilers!**


	23. Who Dunnit?

**Disclaimer: I don't remember owning Harry Potter - and that's something you can't forget.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, you make me smile. Now here's the bit we've all been waiting for!**

Classes had ended, and the Great Hall was bustling with activity. People were talking merrily while eating dinner. Fiona was seated with Megan and her brother at the far end of the table, whereas Morgana sat by herself at the other end. She scowled at the gossiping sixth year girls who she was forced to sit by. Tom was no where to be found.

As she sat down at the Ravenclaw Table, Morgana chewed on her food robotically, ignoring everything around her coldly, until a sudden barrage of owls stormed the Great Hall. The students fell silent, and Morgana's head snapped up.

"Hang on, owls shouldn't be delivered during dinner…"

"I thought the post was only for mornings…"

"…and look, they're carrying _black_ envelopes!"

"Oh Merlin, black owls are only for bad news…"

"…Ministry appointed as well…"

"What in Merlin's beard is going on?"

The Ravenclaw girl closest to her, Clarissa Mount, plucked a black letter from the Ministry owl, trembling. Morgana surreptitiously leaned closer to take a look, but she only caught a glimpse of a few sentences before the sixth year crumpled up the parchment.

_…__regret to inform you…_

_…__bombings in Diagon Alley…_

_…__Susan Mount presumed missing…_

_…__most sincere apologies…_

Clarissa Mount burst into sobs and began clutching her friends, who were sitting near her. "I'm so sorry, Rissa!" The girls next to her kept blabbering sympathies.

Morgana kept silent, watching with detached interest as tears rolled down pale cheeks.

Another sixth year glared at her. "Get outta here, squirt!" She hissed. "Can't you see she needs space! Scram!" Morgana scowled and strode out of the grieving hall. She understood the sentiment, but the girl didn't have to be so rude.

She passed by dozens of sobbing students before pausing at the end of the table, where the Boot siblings sat.

She glanced at the pair and immediately wished she hadn't.

Fiona's face was red and blotchy, and her brother was paler than she had ever seen him, patting her shoulder awkwardly. Two black letters were opened in front of them, and her friend was crying fiercely. None of the usual bouncy happiness was there anymore, just a shell of a person.

Fiona raised her eyes to meet Morgana. Her gaze was burning angrily and she grimaced at Morgana. _This is all your fault_, her piercing eyes told her.

Morgana turned tail and fled through the doors. Even if she weren't to blame, she couldn't bear Fiona's accusing glare. Her throat suddenly felt tight and choked.

She was thankful for the dryness of her eyes.

Morgana slowed down and turned to head back to her dorms. She had almost reached the end of the Charms corridor, when she heard the hissing again, this time behind her.

_Oh Merlin no,_ Morgana thought. _Not now. Please, not now._ She didn't think she could bear it if the day got worse.

_Rip… tear… kill…_ Struck by a sense of déjà vu, she doubled back and followed the voice to the bathrooms – again. The least she could do was help Fiona out indirectly and find out what was scaring the school. And prove that she wasn't attacking Muggleborns.

This time, she was as quiet as a dormouse, creeping along the walls and sticking to the shadows. She listened to the hissing, scraping her ears against the wall. She had lost it last time, and she was determined not to lose it again.

As the hissing sound receded, Morgana pushed down her nervously beating heart and silently nudged the door with her foot. It didn't open all the way, but a tiny gap was created between the door edge and the wall. She peeked through the gap in the door. The back of a figure was visible, but she couldn't see his face. The figure was clearly dressed in black Hogwarts robes – a student then – and his deep voice was hissing in Parseltongue.

She listened intently to the conversation.

_"__You've failed me."_

_"__Nay, masst'r. I sssimply needeth more time."_ Mast'r? Was the monster in the Chamber of Secrets… speaking Ancient Saxon?

_"__Time? You've had a thousssand yearsss. And sstop sspeaking like that! Timess have changed and I can't undersstand half of what you are ssaying!"_

_"__Yesss, mast'r."_

Morgana stifled a giggle as the Heir of Slytherin sighed impatiently.

_"__You have not followed my orderss. Sssalazar Sssslytherin would be assshamed of you!"_

_"__The ssschool is dessecrated with filth. Thither art ssso many to purge…" _She gritted her teeth. Filth, was she?

_"__We mussst finissh Sssslytherin's noble work! I have my own plansss."_

_"__Masst'r?"_

_"__I need you to kill sssomeone. Preferably ssomeone unworthy of magic, essspecially if they are annoying."_

_"__Of course, Master. I will sserveth thou."_

There. Solid proof that someone was behind the attacks, and they were not just a freak accident of nature like Dippet was insisting. Even if that someone was speaking Saxon.

The Saxon-speaking serpent was there, and Morgana flinched away from it when she saw its immense size. It had deep green scales, a red crown and it was leaning out of the bathroom sink, its scales shimmering in the dim sunlight.

Although she could only see the back of its head, Morgana realized that it was a Basilisk. However, her mind completely ignored the gigantic snake in favour of appraising the figure.

Was this the heir?

Fear struck her heart, not from the mere fact there was a mysterious figure in the bathroom, hissing and spitting, but that this figure could be Tom. Morgana bit her lip. The saying had never been so true – ignorance _was_ bliss. If this was indeed Tom, then she wouldn't know what to do.

Morgana still had morals, even if some insisted she didn't. If the figure was actually Tom, she would be torn. She really, really liked Tom and he was the only one she could talk to intelligently without getting a blank stare, even though he would sometimes snap her. Loyalty, although a Gryffindor trait, was still a trait to be respected.

However, another equally important moral was standing up for what was good. Sure, Morgana occasionally bent this rule into standing up for _what benefited her_, but in this case both rules applied. If she handed the figure in, Tom or not, then the attacks on muggleborns would stop – and she would be safe. It was the logical thing to do.

Would she give into her mind or her heart?

Finally, after a long internal debate, she gave in to her curiosity. Silently pushing open the door, thankful that it didn't creak, she pulled out her wand and rubbed the elder wood for reassurance. The figure was so busy hissing in Parseltongue that he didn't even notice her behind him. The Basilisk seemed to notice her though, because it hissed a warning.

"_Masst'r! Thither behind thou!"_

Morgana's heart skipped a beat and she automatically raised her wand.

"Stupefy!"

The giant serpent fell to the ground, knocked out. "Obscuro!" A black blindfold was magically wrapped around its dangerous eyes, securing her own safety.

The mysterious heir of Slytherin, however, had clearly seen her by now and he lunged at her. Morgana, heart in her throat, stepped out of the way.

The Heir's slender fingers whipped out a wand, and he began firing off curses, some of them bordering Dark. Morgana flicked her wand and a golden Protego shielded her from most of the spells. A short but fierce duel ensued.

"_Confringo!_" Bright flames shot out of Morgana's wand, scorching the dark robes. She tried to glance at the Heir's face, but was forced to duck as the flames were doused. The glowing red spell went straight over her head, and she could hear the mirror behind her disintegrate into fine grains.

"Locomotor Mortis! Expelliarmus! Flipendo!" The Heir didn't let up as he whirled around her, sending curse after curse at her. As her shield charm wore off, Morgana attempted to dodge all the spells. However, as she twisted to the side, the last curse caught her off guard. Morgana was flipped through the air like a rag doll and smashed against the wall.

Ignoring the dull pang her back gave out, she staggered to her feet. No more child's play – it was time to go on the offensive. "_Expulso!"_

The Heir flicked his wand, and a shimmering purple shield appeared in front him. Once more, as she continuously fired curses and hexes at him, Morgana tried to see who the Heir was. She caught a glimpse of dark hair as the purple shield was suddenly dropped.

The dark figure stepped into an offensive posture and the next word that came out of mouth shocked Morgana.

"Crucio!" She barely had time to step out of the way as she gaped at the sheer audacity of the Heir. An _Unforgivable Curse_ in the middle of the Hogwarts! The word brought back painful memories of when she was still Grindelwald's plaything.

A red haze descended upon her mind as she recalled the Dark Lord's almost daily curses, always directed towards her, no matter if he was happy or angry. She levitated herself upwards, and as the heir was slightly puzzled, she transfigured the floor beneath them into ice.

The Heir of Slytherin skidded on the sudden ice below his feet, but before long he regained his balance and undid the quick spell. However, in the space of time it took him to _Finite Incantatem_ the transfiguration and stop his sliding feet, Morgana had already begun to act. The first spell that struck her mind was _Avada Kedrava_, but she decided on a quick Body Bind. She still wanted to see who the heir was.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

The figure's eyes widened and he tried to hurled himself out of the way, but her spell reached him before he could take action. The Heir froze in his awkward position of a half-leap, and Morgana slowly lowered herself to the ground. She stepped up to him and took his yew wand from his rigid fingers.

Morgana swallowed and felt like crying – the Heir had neat ebony hair, pale skin, and wide forest green eyes.

It was Tom, and he was responsible for all the chaos at Hogwarts. This day could _not_ get worse.

"Why?"

She pushed down the betrayed feeling in her heart, and tried to keep her voice steady. She paced around the frozen boy, noticing that the sinks behind him were pushed open, revealing a hidden hole behind them, the hole where the Basilisk was leaning out of. This must be the Chamber of Secrets. What an ingenious place to hide it, where no one would suspect – a girl's bathroom.

Morgana cast an _Incarcerous_ on Tom and cancelled the Body Bind. In an instant, Tom struggled to undo the ropes on him, wriggling desperately. Morgana watched on sadly, rubbing the two wands in her hands. What should she do? Tom was her friend, but he was also responsible for the attempted murders of two students.

He still hadn't answered her yet.

"_Why_, Tom?"

Tom stopped struggling and looked up at her. She saw some desperation, some fury and even a hint of pleading in his eyes. Morgana recoiled from the ruby red sheen to his naturally green eyes. The two different colours mixed in with each other, blending to make a strange yellow tint.

"I'm the Heir of Slytherin," he spat. "I was _born_ for this! I need to finish my ancestor's noble work. It's in my _blood_."

Morgana glared at him, her mind still not really processing the unreal situation. She mentally focused on the tiles on the dirty floor, attempting to blink back the tears. Of course the Heir had to be Tom. And on all the days she could've found out, it was the day Grindelwald bombed Diagon Alley.

Fate really hated her, didn't she?

Tom watched her dispassionately, but through her blurred vision she could see him fidgeting. _Good_, she thought viciously. _Let him fidget._

"So what if you're the Heir?" she hissed. "That doesn't make you a murderer!"

A muscle clenched in his jaw and Tom averted his eyes from her. Morgana's face fell as she realized the truth.

"You've killed someone before, haven't you?"

Now her best friend was a murderer. Great.

"Who was it?" she spat, eyes ablaze. "_Who did you kill, Tom?_"

His intense green/red eyes met her angry blue ones.

"You really want to know? It was my _filthy_ Muggle father and his parents." She inhaled sharply and he smiled at her with lots of teeth and no joy. They never mentioned Tom's parents – ever. And he had found them?

"Oh yes, he was alive. Very healthy. He wasn't missing, or murdered, or even imprisoned. He was living a lovely life full of flowers and sunshine while I was trapped in that _miserable_ orphanage."

She listened silently as Tom continued angrily, the words flowing out of his mouth.

"He left her," he spat. "Just like that. He just abandoned my mother the second he discovered she was a witch. _She_ was pathetic – she sold Slytherin's heirlooms on the streets like a beggar. The stupid bint just gave up on life when her pathetic husband left her, just left me to _die_.

"While my dear _father_ was a _Muggle_. A filthy, worthless Muggle, living the high life in his estate with his parents. He didn't want her. He didn't want _me_."

The last sentence came out of his mouth almost like an inhumane howl. Morgana didn't want to listen or watch the anger and pain on his face, but like a horror movie she forced herself to continue listening.

Tom hadn't even paused for breath. "He was rich too. He lived in a _manor_, with piles of money in his estate. And not once did he ever think about finding his son. The haughty Muggle was so surprised when a carbon copy of himself turned up – he thought I was dead. The only good thing he ever did was give me my looks." Tom sneered and Morgana flinched at the hate filled expression on his face.

"So I _had_ to kill him."

"But you're a half-blood yourself," she shot back. "Why are you advocating pureblood propaganda? That's just hypocritical!"

"It's in my _blood_," he replied. "It's my _duty_ to purge Hogwarts of Mudblood."

"I'm a Mudblood! Would you kill me?" As ugly words rushed out of her mouth, Morgana realized the full consequences of what she had said and froze.

Tom froze as well. He said nothing and a suffocating silence descended.

"Would you?" Tom said nothing as Morgana waited for his response.

Finally, after a few minutes, just as she was about to give up, he answered.

"Would you want me to?"

Morgana read between the lines. _I wouldn't if I could avoid it._

"Merlin, Tom," she breathed. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"You won't tell, will you?" Her eyes snapped back to his magnetic gaze, and she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Would she?

On one hand, she really did like him. That kiss had seemed so real in that dream, and she did have feelings for him. Tom was her friend, and he understood her like no one else did. They were like peas in a pod – both ambitious, clever and powerful.

On the other hand, he had practically betrayed her (although it didn't really change her feelings for him) by setting the monster on Hogwarts. Hogwarts was like her home now, and it was terrible to see it in such a state of fear. Tom supported pureblood propaganda even though she was a Muggleborn.

So would she tell?

Morgana bit her lip, head whirling full of possibilities. Tom watched her every movement carefully, with a hawk's eye.

At last, she shook her head. He looked very relieved. "No," she said. "I'm not going to tell…"

"But I'm not going to hang out with you either." The frown came back onto Tom's features again.

"Excuse me?"

"Tom Riddle, you know I am a Muggleborn! And you are trying to murder Muggleborns! I'd rather not be with a murderer who's out to kill me," Morgana said, keeping her expression blank.

She had to do this, even if it hurt her. She had to give him an ultimatum.

"Not unless you change." Again, Tom said nothing.

She waited for what seemed like ages, but it seemed like he wasn't going to reply. Morgana and turned around. "Then I'm going." She walked to the door, taking slow measured steps.

Behind her, Tom was stock still, eyes narrowed and lips pressed tight together. As Morgana got closer and closer to the door, she kept pausing, waiting for Tom to call out her name.

_Come on,_ she urged him silently. _Change. Tell me that you'll change. Call my name. Tell me to wait…_

But he didn't say a word.

Morgana breathed in deeply as she reached the door and stepped outside. Tom wasn't changing. He wasn't going to disregard his ancestor's beliefs. She choked down her tears and fled the bathroom, leaving Tom to stare at her retreating back silently.

**Hard to write an emotional Morgana, but even harder to write Tom. Phew.**

**What do you think Tom will do next? Let me know in the comments! :)**


	24. Murder in the Bathroom

**Disclaimer: No matter how much sherry Professor Trelawney drinks, I will never own Harry Potter.**

**I'm back with regular updates now. Hope you enjoy the aftermath of our great encounter.**

Tom was furious.

How dare she hand him an ultimatum! He was _Tom Riddle_, the Heir of Slytherin, and he commanded respect and power in the House of Slytherin. He had every teacher and student wrapped around his finger (apart from Dumbledore, but he didn't count). He had a license to do whatever he wanted and get away with it. He would not be controlled by a mere Ravenclaw_ girl._

But the truth was, Morgana had already stolen a part of him that he needed back desperately.

Tom didn't need her all the time (_he didn't need anyone_), but he did need to talk to someone intelligent. Ever since he was young, she had been the only person he could actually speak to without her giving him a confused look.

Of course she wasn't as intelligent as him, but she was still quite powerful and different to the common filth that littered the school. Mudboods thought they were worthy to learn magic – _deserving _of it – but they hadn't even been born into this world. Powerful muggleborns?

Please.

The only purpose these stupid, haughty students existed was to serve him. They were at his beck and call, and he enjoyed dishing out commands like Blood Pops – but even he couldn't take a whole week of ordering his followers about when they didn't know how to do things correctly.

Honestly, couldn't some people just _think_ for once?

Sure, Tom had been commanding people and ordering them to do specific tasks for four years – but now they were driving him crazy. They couldn't comprehend the simplest of orders and they always wanted to take action like a bunch of Gryffindors. They were all idiots, really.

Cygnus Lestrange was a complete sycophant, and only useful for his family name.

Abraxas Malfoy was a brash idiot, too caught up in family rivalries, only powerful with his inherited wealth.

Alphard Black was too sympathetic and soft, and his only redeeming quality was his common sense.

Crabbe and Goyle were dunderheads, as they only served to protect the Malfoy Heir.

Olive Hornby was a complete and utter nightmare dressed in pastel pink and yellow.

Sometimes he wondered why he bothered to associate with them.

He needed intelligent conversation. In his first several years, he had talked with a snake he found on the Hogwarts grounds, of whom he named Nagini. A bunch of stupid Gryffindors had been taunting her with a stick, but Tom had knocked them away in his first year to rescue the poor serpent. She was smart and witty, but, as with most snakes, she had a tendency to annoy him.

Snakes could be incredibly evasive with their answers, and the Basilisk was no different. In fact, it was even more annoying as it tended to talk in Ancient sentences – the language the Founders spoke – with 'thee's and 'thou's dotted throughout their words. Tom felt like tearing his hair out every time he had to speak with the Basilisk.

Thank Salazar the password to unleash the serpent could be changed. Really, what sort of password was 'Slytherin'? It was so blatantly obvious.

At least it wasn't some long sentence in Ancient Parseltongue.

Instead, Tom had _corrected_ the phrase to something less obvious – a phrase no one would guess through pure luck.

However, Morgana didn't speak in riddles or answer cryptically. She supplied intelligent conversation and kept him from going crazy from boredom. Fifth year was now one of the best years in his life so far. She could understand him when he was frustrated with Hogwarts and all the incompetent idiots that lived there, and she served as a powerful friend.

Now, she was gone.

She had left him all because of the Chamber of Secrets. As she had walked away that afternoon, with slow and deliberate steps, he had waited for her to stop. He had felt like calling out her name, telling her to stop – but he was _Tom Riddle_, and he did not chase or pursue after girls.

He had just watched, frozen to the spot, as Morgana Greene walked out of his life.

He thought he saw the telltale glimmer of tear tracks on her cheeks as she left, but before he could act she was gone. Tom had simply stood there, in the bathroom, mind reeling, until the Stunned Basilisk had woken up and thrashed about wildly. Without really thinking, he had banished the blindfold from it's eyes.

The serpent reared up and hissed furiously. "_Masst'r! Who iss the guilty daw who did thisss to me_!" Tom sighed and rubbed his eyes. Why did the Basilisk have to speak like Shakespeare?

"_Never mind who_," he hissed back. "_Go back to the Chamber for now._"

"_But, Mast'r! Your plansssss… my mealsssss…"_ The Basilisk protested, eager for blood.

_"__I'm afraid you will have to go hungry for a while longer. Don't attack anyone yet."_

The Basilisk grudgingly hissed its agreement. _"Of coursse, Masst'r. But the wench who jusst left? What shouldst I doeth to her?"_

Tom hesitated. "_I mussst think. Now go back to the Chamber. I will sssummon you sssoon."_

Morgana had to make things so complicated, didn't she? Why couldn't she just stay? Yes, he wanted to kill Mudbloods – it was his duty, it was his blood – but couldn't she see that she was different? He wasn't going to kill _her_, he was just going to purge the school of all those who were unworthy to stay.

As his thoughts overwhelmed him, Tom was struck by anger as well. Morgana was nothing in the way of his plans. She was mere person, a Muggleborn, an acquaintance. She had shown which side she stood on, and she had openly defied him. Why he hadn't punished her before was a mystery to him.

It was the _feelings_, he told himself. Morgana had kissed him on Christmas – on his birthday, the 31st of December. Tom had actually enjoyed his birthday gift, but the next morning, when she didn't remember any of it, he had felt so disappointed.

He had liked Morgana for a while now, but it was clear she didn't feel anything for him. She had been the final obstacle in his plans, and now it was clear that that obstacle was simply an illusion created by his feelings.

Tom clenched his jaw and flexed his long fingers. Time to get to work.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Morgana and Tom did not talk to each other. Of course, they hadn't really talked for a while since Morgana had had _the dream_ (not that Tom knew that) but now things between them were even tenser. Morgana would flinch every time he came near, and Tom couldn't help but notice she was always alone now. That Ravenclaw brunette wasn't with her anymore, and she sat alone at mealtimes.

Tom hadn't ordered any more attacks on anyone yet. He was biding his time, waiting for the exact moment to strike. He always carried the black diary with him (although he never let anyone see. Think of the damage it would do to his reputation if he was seen carrying a _diary_!)

Ever since he had read about Horcruxes in _Magick Moste Eville_, he had had his mind set on the task of becoming immortal. During his childhood years, when Morgana had been 'dead', Tom had sworn to himself that death would never take anything precious to him anymore.

As time went by, he had never accepted Morgana's disappearance, and decided that he wouldn't let Death take his life without a fight.

He had already talked to Slughorn several weeks ago. The foolish professor was wrapped around his finger already, and he had extracted the information he needed in a mere half an hour. It had been masterfully done, if he did say so himself.

Slughorn had been horrified, but, with a little persuasion, he had told Tom the secret of creating a Horcrux.

"_Well, you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature._"

"_But how do you do it?_"

"_By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart…_ "

So he needed to murder – and that was where the Basilisk came in handy. Of course, murder would tear his soul apart and he would be living a half life from that point on.

Most would choose to die instead of living a cursed life, but Tom preferred a lonely eternity than an endless oblivion.

He knew what he had to do.

Tom chewed thoughtfully on his roast lamb while surveying the Ravenclaw table. He was determinedly looking anywhere apart from Morgana, pushing down the possessive urges inside him. She was sitting next to that blasted Quidditch Captain again. He couldn't see her face, but a vindictive glee warmed Tom's heart as he imagined a look of disgust on her features at the obvious flirting he could hear from Davies.

As dinner ended, Tom realized that he had no duties that night. Slughorn didn't need him, there were no Knights of Walpurgis meetings, and he had no Prefect rounds to do. He had three hours of freedom until curfew. Perhaps now was the perfect time to put his plan into action.

Tom quickly got up, leaving his half-finished meal on the table. He wanted to make the most of his limited free time. Of course, he could go past the curfew, but then he risked the chance of being caught out of bounds by Dumbledore. The man was keeping an annoyingly close watch on his activities since the whole fiasco started, and sometimes Tom felt like just hexing the nosy coot and damn the consequences.

He glared hostilely at the Transfiguration professor as the man cheerfully spoke to Dippet.

As Dumbledore turned, Tom sped up and walked out of the Hall before the old man came to his senses and tried to track him. He hurried to the girl's bathroom, where he shut the door and locked it.

He ignored the weird feeling of going into a female's washroom that struck him every time he visited, and opened the Chamber of Secrets again. He didn't really feel like going down through the slimy chute, so Tom called the Basilisk up to him.

"_Come up,_" he hissed loudly down the chamber.

The giant serpent awoke to the baritone voice of its master. It slithered upwards and poked it's large head through the gap, its deadly eyes closed carefully. Tom grinned and stroked the deep green scales, thinking about his plans for the future. This was the closest he had ever been to immortality. He could almost _taste_ it. All he needed was a victim to make his Horcrux.

So, who to murder?

As the thought struck his mind, Tom heard a soft _creak_ behind him. He immediately pulled his yew wand out of his robes and spun around to the source of the noise, somehow feeling a sense of déjà vu. _Please, don't let it be Morgana_, he thought. Tom quickly Disillusioned himself and crept to the side.

Flicking his wand, he silently cast _Homenum Revelio._ The spell would reveal who was there, and where the person was. Sure enough, a pale pink light glowed from behind a closed bathroom stall. A girl then.

Cursing his luck, Tom realized he had been found out.

This wasn't Morgana. She wouldn't be that cowardly to hide behind a bathroom stall, and she already knew anyway. No, the person behind the stall would no doubt run off to tell Dippet and Dumbledore the minute she got out of the bathroom. Tom's brilliant mind started whirring at full speed, pondering his next move.

Should he Obliviate her?

Automatically, Tom dismissed the notion. He hadn't yet fully mastered the Obliviation charm, and eventually the memories would come back. As soon as the victim saw a trigger, the Obliviated moments would reappear. In this case, if the girl passed by the common bathroom again, she could remember everything.

Suddenly, a clever thought came to him. Perhaps this person could be his sacrifice! Her death would be practical, and he could kill two birds with one stone. Tom decided to act immediately, before the girl opened the stall and made a run for it.

"_Come to me! Prepare yoursself - you musst kill the girl behind the sstall!" _He hissed loudly to the Basilisk, not caring if the person heard him. They couldn't understand him and they were going to die anyway.

It was all for a Greater purpose.

The enormous serpent slithered along the smooth bathroom tiles, fatal eyes open and fangs ready to bite. Tom specifically focused on the green scales and avoided the gaze of the Basilisk. Now was no time for irony.

His blood pumped through his veins and his heartbeat increased, but Tom's fingers remained still and his palms dry. He had murdered before, but the exhilarating rush still washed over him.

Was this what serial killers felt every day, the anticipation of Death greeting its victims?

He moistened his now dry throat and raised his wand. The Basilisk's deadly gaze was ready, staring at the closed door, prepared.

He wondered if the girl behind the door was prepared as well.

With a miniscule flick of the wrist, a purple jet of light shot out from the tip of his bone white wand, decimating the door in seconds. A yelp sounded from within.

"Oh yes, tease poor Myrtle, blow Moaning Myrtle to bits, won't you! What are you doing, hissing about this dirty bathroom like a snake…"

A high screeching noise grated against his ears. Tom smirked, but inside his heart was thudding.

"Shh," he soothed the poor soul. "It's all going to be fine. I'm sending you to a better place than this filthy bathroom." The sobbing girl looked up in surprise at his deep voice.

Confused brown eyes met the blazing yellow orbs of his Basilisk and Myrtle Thomas crumpled to the ground.

Tom grinned triumphantly, a fierce, wild joy inside of him.

He waved the Basilisk away and the serpent slithered back down to the Chamber. He closed the entrance and set up Silencing wards. The process was said to be painful – he couldn't risk anyone listening in during the ritual. He set down his black diary and tucked his wand in the robes, emotionlessly surveying the dead body in front of him.

Myrtle Thomas had always been a pain in the side to Tom, pestering him and annoying him with her blatant flirting. Olive Hornby and her lackeys had clearly made Myrtle aware of her horrible acne, so why did she still have the audacity to lust after him? Oh well, at least she was dead now. That was _three _birds killed with one stone.

Tom smirked and spoke the incantations to create a Horcrux. His anticipation grew as he continued to speak, his ambition fueling his increasingly frantic chanting.

Nobody would be as great as him.

Nobody would dare to defy him.

Nobody would ever hold him back.

He would be invincible and terrible, and all would love him and despair.

**That last line is shamelessly taken from The Lord of the Rings (which I don't own either). I thought it fit Tom so much I just had to use it.**

* * *

**Now, I'd like to ask your opinion on this. Remember Wool's Orphanage? Would you like me to:**

**a) write a scene about Morgana coming back to the orphanage and exacting revenge on Lavinia?**

**b) skip the scene to move the plot along faster and make the story shorter?**

**Or would you not prefer either way? **

**Let me know in the review box down there. Even if you don't normally review, please vote because your opinion does matter to me (and this story). :)**


	25. Horcruxes

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Thanks for keeping up with this story, and for all of your encouraging reviews. :) I know this is really late, but here you go. Enjoy!**

Morgana watched as Tom stood up and left the hall. She ignored Sam's chattering and not-so-well-disguised flirting, and stared at the back of his head as it disappeared through the doors of the Great Hall.

She had been watching Tom for the last few weeks or so, after the bathroom incident. Every time he acted just a _little_ bit suspicious, or just a _little_ bit off character, she worried and tried to keep tabs on him. Morgana was finding it quite difficult to watch Tom and go to classes at the same time, so every time she didn't know where Tom was she got a little bit freaked out.

Fiona was still avoiding her. Apparently, her beloved aunt had been shopping at Ollivanders' when Grindelwald had bombed the famous alleyway. The once lively Mrs. Boot, so full of life and laughter, was now silenced forever underneath the earth. Her corpse had been found underneath a pile of rubble and the diagnostic scans showed that she had been buried underneath alive after suffocating.

Somehow, Morgana was to blame for that, too.

Now, as the back of Tom's head disappeared from sight, Morgana hastily bid goodbye to a confused Sam and practically ran out of the Great Hall. She silently followed Tom as he went _once again_ into the girl's bathroom. Morgana groaned silently – this place was getting far too familiar for her liking.

This time, she stayed outside of the bathroom. Morgana silently peeked around the corner and nudged open a crack in the door. She pointed her wand at the back of the Slytherin green robes and cast a very low-powered _Sonorus. _This would enable her to hear everything Tom said, no matter how quietly he whispered it.

Morgana pressed herself back against the stone wall, ignoring the coldness and listening intently. She could here muffled pacing behind the door, and a sort of slithering sound along the floors. _Must be the Basilisk_, she thought.

Suddenly, a deadened shockwave blasted through the air, shaking the sturdy barrier that Morgana was leaning against. She shuddered and almost jumped away from the heaving wall, but she resisted and pressed herself against the stone again.

To her shock, Morgana heard a familiar, screeching voice that she knew from various stints in the common room. This time, she didn't even have to cast an Amplifying spell. "Oh yes, tease poor Myrtle, blow Moaning Myrtle to bits, won't you! What are you doing, hissing about…"

Moaning Myrtle was in the bathroom _with Tom_? Oh Merlin, this could not end well.

Morgana stiffened as Tom spoke in a deceivingly reassuring tone. "Shh…" As he talked in an almost calm, soothing way, Morgana heard the implications behind the words. Horrified, she almost moved to push the door open wide, but she decided not to. Morgana didn't exactly have a death wish.

A dull thud sounded from behind the door and Morgana could faintly hear scales rubbing against the smooth floor once more. "_Quietus_," a voice said, and she cursed silently as the Silencing ward was put up. Damn it – she would have to creep in past the wards herself.

Morgana watched, terrified, as her childhood friend began chanting in an ancient tongue as he coldly stepped over the dead body of Myrtle Thomas. She glimpsed a flash of crimson eyes as Tom smoothly turned around and raised his wand. Morgana was crest-fallen to see that there was not one hint of guilt in those familiar green eyes. Instead his gaze was dark and hungry, wild and ravaging, the sparkle of amusement that sometimes popped up gone.

She watched, frozen to the spot, as the Heir of Slytherin carefully laid down a black leather-bound school diary as if it was the most precious of artifacts, still chanting continuously. Dark magic began trickling out from between the words, swirling around Tom. Although it didn't take a physical form, she could sense the Dark magic surging out. Morgana shuddered – the magic was so overwhelming it felt _amazing_.

But Dark Magic was just like alcohol – it was great in small doses, but too much of it and it would drag you down into the abyss.

As Morgana was lost in the sensual magic, Tom gave a slight whimper as his soul was beginning to rip. She barely noticed it, caught up in the power, until her friend began thrashing about on the ground.

Morgana blinked and shook her head, as if clearing her mind of the last remnants of Dark magic. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the sight of Tom twisting about in pain, lips clamped together tightly to repress the silent scream.

_He deserves it!_ A savage voice in her head lashed out at the writhing figure on the floor, and Morgana felt a stab of hatred towards him. Tom, who killed and manipulated and _the only one she really knew_, had turned his back on her the one time she ever really needed his help.

"I should let you die," she thought out loud unwittingly. Green eyes widened before her as he heard her and Morgana instantly winced at her own harsh words.

He was still Tom Riddle. He was still the boy who she had grown up with in the orphanage, the one who she would follow to the end of the world and back, the only one who understood her behind the cold façade.

Morgana dropped to her knees and peered at Tom, pushing down the surge of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. His forest green eyes were rolled back in his head, limbs shaking and slapping the floor, looking for all the world a mental patient having a seizure.

Confused, she frowned, thinking hard. It made no sense – why would Tom be suffering after killing someone? Sure, murdering someone could send a person into the deepest depths of regret or sadness, but this scenario didn't play with Tom. And, of course, although remorse could make a person go insane and thrash about wildly, she doubted Tom would ever reach that point of craziness.

Glancing closer at Tom, she saw that his wand was still clutched tightly in his hands, even as they banged against the ground. That meant he hadn't been attacked, because otherwise Tom would have at least put up a fight and his attackers would disarmed him, before casting such a painful spell. So it wasn't the result of a Dark spell, unless Tom cast it on himself…

Unlikely. That left one last possibility: Tom was in the throes of a Dark ritual.

And since he hadn't been attacked, he must have been the one who had cast it. Morgana silently groaned; she knew she shouldn't have bought Tom that book. Still, no use crying over spilled milk. She grasped her wand firmly in one hand as she struggled to push the flailing arms down. Morgana quickly cast a strong Stunner at Tom as she thought about what to do next.

Stunning him would stop the struggling, yes, but it wouldn't stop the Dark ritual from continuing. The magic would continue to flow into and through him, even if his body was stationary. Morgana tried not to get caught up in the ravaging, wild magic oozing through the air around her and instead focused on finding a way to put an end to the whole thing.

She could feel the current of magic flowing towards a certain area on the bathroom floor. Morgana hesitantly crept closer towards the leather bound black book lying on the white tiles. She grabbed the book and flipped open the cover, surprised to find its pages blank.

_I could have sworn that I saw Tom scribbling in it the other day…_

Her hands suddenly tingled as the book began vibrating with Dark magic, sending out stinging shockwaves. Morgana yelped and dropped the black diary on the floor, fingertips still burning hot as the pages continued to thrum. She glared at the vibrating diary, its pages glowing ominously and a growing pool of ink oozing from its spine, spreading across the floor.

She drew her wand cautiously and pointed it at the diary. "REDUCTO!" She shouted, and a purple streak of light struck the shaking book like a bolt of lightning. For a second, the room was illuminated in violet light, and Morgana thought she saw pain flash across Tom's features, before the light faded and his pale face was blank once more.

Morgana scrutinized the innocuous looking book, but if she was expecting smoking leather and paper she was sorely disappointed. The area on the bathroom floor was scorched with burn marks, whereas the diary was lying there intact and in perfect condition.

She hissed in anger at the infuriating journal, while glancing at Tom, who was still thrashing. A desperate sense of time running out consumed her as she tried to figure out how in Merlin's name she would stop this, her eyebrows knitting together.

Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way. Instead of trying to destroy the diary, maybe she should try to stop the Dark ritual Tom had cast. Morgana felt like sobbing when she realized she had no idea what ritual this what, no less how to resolve this mess. She winced as she heard a guttering choke from Tom's throat.

"Morgana…" The words, issued with a raspy voice, made Morgana turn around and face Tom. The effects of the Stunner were wearing off faster than she had expected – how much time had she wasted? She scrambled towards Tom, careful to avoid the pool of black goo, and grabbed him by the shoulders with a vice-like grip. "Tom," she growled urgently. "Tom!" She shook him and his eyes finally focused on her.

"Morgana?" His words slurred together, so unlike the refined and rigid manner Tom usually used.

"Tom, I need you to tell me what you've done!" Morgana practically yelled at him. "I can't help you if you don't tell me... I can't stop this…" Tom's head lolled around on his shoulder. "Don't stop…" he said in a surprising sharp voice. "I need… immortal… leave now…"

Immortal?

Morgana thought frantically back to Christmas, when she had gifted Tom with a book on Dark Magic. _Magick Moste Eville_, wasn't it? But she had read through it, and she clearly recalled that the volume discussed theory only, and did not go into detail about Dark rituals.

Immortality…

She tried to come up with rituals that involved eternal life, or avoiding death. Morgana's brain remained blank for a few moments, before an unfamiliar word floated into her mind. _Horcrux_. She screwed her eyes shut, thinking carefully.

_Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction._

Morgana felt like slapping herself. How could she have been so stupid? Of course this one sentence would have spiked Tom's interest, pulling him to find out exactly what Horcruxes were. From what she'd gleaned so far, Horcruxes were a way of defeating death. Something to do with Dark Soul Magic and murder.

She used a spell to levitate the book towards her and tentatively placed a fingertip on the cover. A sudden rush of euphoria flowed into her, but unlike before Morgana concentrated on her task, determined to ignore the magic swirling around her. The diary thrummed with magic and she could sense that it was almost full of magic – or soul. She was running out of time…

Morgana gripped her wand even tighter and channeled all her energy into the most damaging spell that would not be detected by Hogwarts' wards: the Blasting Curse. She jabbed the tip of her wand point-blank into the leather cover of Tom's diary. "_Confringo!"_ The diary burned red hot and scalded her, so she dropped it.

Anxiously, a magically exhausted Morgana placed her hand on the diary. Had she succeeded?

She felt crushed when she realized that, although the diary might have been damaged, she had been too late. The burnt pages inside were humming with magic. Perhaps, if she had cast the spell one second earlier, then perhaps she might have stopped Tom.

But maybe it wasn't too late yet. Morgana had failed to prevent Tom creating a Horcrux – but she could prevent him from creating another one. As soon as the idea popped into her head, Morgana summoned a scroll of parchment. She didn't even care if it was hers or not – she simply summoned a self-inking quill and put ink-tip to parchment.

Morgana wrote at a frantic pace, checking on Tom every minute to see how he was. Her friend's limbs twitched a couple of times, scaring her, but apart from that he didn't wake up. His eyelids fluttered and it seemed as if he was going to awake any second now, but Tom stayed flat on his back on the floor as Morgana finished her scribbling.

She read through her hastily drawn up contract and decided that it was good enough.

_I, _, swear on my magic and my life that I will not create another Horcrux. I will not attempt to nor entertain the thought of murdering another person nor of tearing my soul in half. I will not attempt any other Dark ritual until Morgana Greene agrees. I will not attempt to purposefully murder any soul._

_Upon my life and magic, so mote it be. __

Morgana hoped that a Binding magical Contract was enough to get Tom's attention. If he broke this agreement, then he would lose his magic and his life. This should stop him, thought Morgana. She knew he would be furious, but it was the only way.

She hoped that he didn't know Binding Contracts lost effectiveness after the Binder died.

Just in case, she added an extra line, stating that he could not attempt to find a way to escape the Contract.

That should do it.

A groan sounded from behind her, and her head whipped around. Tom was waking up now. Sure enough, he sat upright and rubbed his eyes. "Morgana?" he said, words still slightly slurred. "What are you doing here?" His tone of voice suddenly became alarmed, and Morgana lifted her wand up.

"_Imperio!_" At once, Tom's grip on his wand became slack, and his sharp gaze turned blank and vacant. "I'm sorry, Tom," she told him. She summoned a blood quill (while wondering where the hell these things came from) and gave it to Tom.

"Read it and memorize the contract," she commanded him, and gloried in the power she held over him for a few moments, before getting back to the task at hand. "Now sign it in your full name and title," she told him, and she watched as he moved in a trance-like state, robotically holding the quill and signing his name in blood.

The contract glowed a bright blue before disappearing with a wisp of smoke.

Morgana breathed a sigh of relief before waving her wand to cancel the spell. Immediately, Tom snapped out of it, green eyes clearing and sluggish limbs snapping to attention. She tried not to wince as his yew wand dug into her throat, and her own wand flew out of her hand, landing on the floor a few metres away.

"_What the hell did you just do_?" Tom's voice was not loud nor harsh – instead it was soft and dangerous, the words coming out of his mouth in hisses. Morgana stood rigid and straight, staring at him, pushing down any feelings of attraction. "I did what I had to do," she said evenly. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"I had plans, Morgana! Plans carefully mapped out, laid out for years to come, and you've just _ruined them all_! I could have become king, and you could have been my…" Tom trailed off. She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"…you could have had everything you wanted, once I rule the world."

"Once you rule the _world_, Tom?" She repeated, incredulous. "Yes," he replied, adamantly. "Can't you see this society is flawed? Look at all the things we can do with magic! If we pushed the boundaries, if we explored magic itself, we could become _gods_. We could _rule_ over everyone else, be worshipped, respected, remembered as the greatest wizard and witch of all time! Greater than Dumbledore, greater than Grindelwald, greater than Merlin himself!" His eyes gleamed fanatically.

Morgana had to admit that it sounded good. A utopia, where wizards and witches could practice magic freely without being persecuted, with Tom Riddle as the Head of the Magical World? Even better. Still, there was a problem. "I would love to build a utopia, Tom, but Horcruxes isn't the way to do it. For Merlin's sake, splitting your soul in half to live a cursed life isn't worth it at all. Any fool can see that."

Tom's dark aura flared up, angry. "A fool, Morgana? Is that what you take me for? I dream of building the perfect society, of power and magical discovery, and you dare call me a _fool_." He glared at her, and she glared back.

"Fine," he spat. Tom tucked his diary away into his robes and banished the body of Myrtle Thomas, cleaning up the mess with a flick of his wand. His sharp, handsome features were blank once more as he strode out of the bathroom. "You can try to stop me, Morgana, but I will find a way to live forever," he vowed.

"I will never die. I will never be forgotten. And you cannot stop me from achieving my dreams."

As his words echoed around the room, Morgana shivered and bent down to pick up her disarmed wand. When she looked up again, Tom was already gone.

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	26. The Deathly Hallows

**Disclaimer: All hail JK Rowling! We're not worthy! We're not worthy!**

**I'm back, and since I've had a long holiday (National Day and Mid Autumn Festival in one week, woohoo!) I've had time to update. Thank you for all your encouraging reviews. Love you all, and enjoy the drama!**

Those words still haunted Morgana as she continued about her daily life later. Had she done the right thing by stopping Tom from creating Horcruxes?

She certainly hoped so. For one, it had ended the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Myrtle Thomas' body had been found the next day by the one and only Olive Hornby, who had shrieked like a banshee the second she stepped into her dorm - apparently Tom had banished the body away to the Slytherin dorms by accident. The teachers had been alerted immediately and Dippet had been interrogated mercilessly by the Board of Governors. She had to pity the old man, really – he had been flustered for the last week or so and several more wrinkles had appeared on his face.

However, a few days later, Morgana was in for a shock.

She was in the Ravenclaw Common Room, reading a thick tome on Runes. It was a peaceful Wednesday evening and everyone was relaxing in the room. They had just finished their monthly meeting on Quidditch strategies when John Farley, the Ravenclaw prefect, had burst through the door, surprising the quiet Ravenclaws with his loud entrance.

"They're shutting down Hogwarts!" he gasped out, wheezing.

The pandemonium that followed stunned Morgana, as studious and quiet Ravenclaws tripped over each other as they panicked. She, on the other hand, simply stood there, paralyzed as her mind refused to accept the information.

She loved Hogwarts. Although she had only been at the castle for half a year, she already knew every corridor and passageway like the back of her hand. Hogwarts was the one place she called _home_, the one place she had ever fit in.

They couldn't close it now!

Morgana practically ran out of the common room and flew down the spiral staircase three at a time. The passing students gave her scandalous looks, but she didn't care if she seemed improper at the time. Suddenly, as she turned a corner, she crashed into someone. She instinctively put her hands out and caught herself from tripping over just in time.

"Sorry – my fault – I'll…" Morgana trailed off as she looked up at a familiar face. Tom peered down at her and she wondered when he had gotten so much taller than her. His green eyes pierced her, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he dismissed the notion and closed it again. He didn't mention the events of last week.

"What is it?" His tone was casual and made it seem as if he didn't really care. Morgana knew better than that.

"They're closing Hogwarts," she blurted out.

Morgana couldn't help but relish the shock and surprise in Tom's eyes. "Closing Hogwarts?" She nodded and jumped as he swore uncharacteristically. "Language!" she admonished him, and Tom glared at her. "They're going to close Hogwarts, and you're calling me out for _language_?"

She had to admit, he had a point.

Tom strode off, pace quickening as Morgana raced to catch up to him. "What are you going to do?" she asked, slightly worried. She sincerely hoped that he wouldn't go on another murderous rampage. He didn't look at her. "Only what I need to do," he said, and disappeared into a crowd of students.

* * *

Three days later found Hogwarts students celebrating the end of the Chamber of Secrets debacle. The culprit had been found – a large, bumbling second year who spoke in slurred words, called Rubeus Hagrid.

Morgana had seen him once while wandering the school, and had thought, at first, that he was an escaped creature from Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't fit in his ragtag clothes and towered over some of the fourth years with his enormous girth. The boy was twelve and already had a large bushy black beard.

When the boy had been caught by a Slytherin Prefect (Tom, of course, who else?) and delivered to Dippet in front of dozens of students, the rumors spread like wildfire. They ranged from mere speculation to absurd conspiracy theories, the wildest claiming that Hagrid _was_ the monster in the Chamber of Secrets.

However, the official story going around the grapevine was that Hagrid had illegally snuck in a pet Acromantula, and it had been attempting to murder students in its bid for escape. Hagrid had been turned in but his pet monster had escaped, leaving only circumstantial evidence.

Despite that, it was the popular Tom Riddle's word against the poor bumbling oaf – there was never any doubt who the governors would choose to believe. Rubeus Hagrid had had his wand snapped and was expelled from school, however he was allowed to stay on the castle grounds, as a groundskeeper. Apparently Dumbledore had vouched for him.

Morgana saw the flawed logic in it – how could an Acromantula _petrify_ someone? The bloody thing had eight eyes, for Merlin's sake – not to mention it was only six months old. It might be a XXXXX classified Ministry banned creature, but the worst thing it could do at six months was scare a first year.

However, the subject of the Chamber of Secrets was taboo now, as everyone refused to speak about it. Morgana understood that they wanted to forget the whole disaster and leave the past behind, but she couldn't see how they would just accept such an unrealistic solution. Of course, the one person who was actually looking into it was Dumbledore, the nosy yet kind hearted professor.

The incident had brought some relief to her as well. Fiona had finally found her and apologized for everything.

"I'm sorry," she had sobbed on Morgana's shoulder. "I thought – I thought you were – the Slytherins had corrupted your mind – because… oh, I'm such a – bad – friend! I'm sorry –" Morgana had patted her shoulder awkwardly. She might be good at reading people, but she had no idea how to deal with crying friends.

"Erm, it's… alright?" she had said hesitantly. Morgana had winced. Her answer sounded more like a question. Fiona had looked up at her in surprise, hiccupping. "So – you forgive – me? Just like that?"

"Yeah…" She trailed off.

"Oh thank – you!" Her delighted friend had squeezed the life out of her as Morgana grinned, thankful for the end of such an emotional scene. It was good to have her enthusiastic companion back.

Now, as Morgana walked through the halls of Hogwarts, she saw a head of dark hair up ahead. She quickened her pace to catch up to Tom and grabbed his arm, causing him to stop and raise an eyebrow at her coldly.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly. Tom blinked in surprise. "For what?"

"For closing _it_ and stopping the whole mess," Morgana said purposefully. They both knew that he had framed Hagrid to save Hogwarts. "Even if your plan's logic is flawed," she added. "I don't know how people buy it."

Tom smirked. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied innocently. Morgana laughed at his response. He smirked, but his face lost all traces of humor when she began talking again.

"I know you had plans," she said hesitantly. "And I'm sorry if I ruined them, but I don't want you to completely tear your soul to pieces."

"It was completely safe," Tom argued. Morgana raised an eyebrow. "You were thrashing about in pain and wrecking the bathroom – you call that safe?" Tom's lips twitched, albeit involuntarily.

"True," he conceded. "But I can't risk dying. Immortalized, I will be able to bring the Wizarding World into a new golden era, as long as I have time."

"I'd like that," she said softly. "But please, no more ripping your soul into shreds. We can find another way, together. A safer, more convenient way to make it work."

Tom chewed his lip. "And you'll help me to the best of your ability?" She nodded. "Yes."

"Swear it."

Morgana sighed in exasperation. "I, Morgana Greene, swear on my magic that I will help Tom Riddle find a way to gain immortality _to the best of my ability_. So mote it be." She flicked her wand and an orange glow surrounded her. "Happy?"

"Yes," Tom replied grudgingly. "And you'll share your information?" Morgana nodded. "Good," he said, smirking in a satisfied way. "Far better, although I did spend the whole of last year researching Horcruxes." She snickered and Tom's lips turned upwards in an amused grin.

"Too bad then," she said. "But you'll just accept this? Just like that?" Tom gave a questioning glance at her. "Problem with that?"

"No," she said hastily. "I was just expecting more… protests. You did spend a whole _month_ arguing about Horcruxes with me." "Well, you bound me to a practically foolproof contract, in case you forgot," Tom told her. "So I might as well head down another pathway and make the most of an opportunity."

Morgana smiled sheepishly. "Good point," she said. It felt surreal, to be smiling casually again in Tom's presence. This was actually going better than she had expected.

"Truce?" she proposed.

"Truce," he agreed, and kissed her.

Morgana's eyes widened as he suddenly pressed his lips against hers. Tentatively, she responded and Tom grinned when he eventually pulled away. "What?"

"That was… unexpected," Morgana managed. "Is it weird that I'm getting déjà-vu from this?" Tom smiled smugly at her. "You did kiss me on Christmas Day," he reminded her, and she blinked and spluttered. "What – when – I thought that was just a dream!"

Tom suddenly beamed at her. "You were drunk too," he added, enjoying her look of shock. "And you may have said some very _revealing _things." Tom teased her and turned on his heel, leaving Morgana standing there speechless and disbelieving.

She must have stood there for a while, running a finger over her still tingling lips incredulously. When Morgana finally returned to the Common Room, shell-shocked, Fiona smiled at her knowingly and let her sleep in peace for once.

* * *

The next day, Morgana met up with Tom as if none of the events of the past month had happened. Fiona was now on friendly terms with her again, although she was now trying to make it up to Morgana by being extra helpful. It was cute and annoying at the same time.

Of course, Slughorn had been ecstatic to find his top two students were 'partners'. Morgana had snickered uncomfortably at this, and Tom simply brushed it off, smirking. During the Slug Club party, which had been thrown together hastily in celebration of the end of the Chamber of Secrets, she had been dragged along by the Heir of Slytherin as a companion.

She could still remember Olive Hornby's outraged, murderous face when the spoilt brat saw her by Tom's side. Morgana had laughed wildly once she was out of sight.

Tom raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Did you see her face?" She gasped, snickering hysterically.

His lips twitched and Morgana was instantly reminded of yesterday's kiss.

She smiled. "Did I really snog you on Christmas Day?" He nodded, smirking, and Morgana groaned. "And there I was, thinking it was a dream…"

Tom burst into laughter, a rich melodic sound that she had missed for so long, and she couldn't help but laugh along. Slughorn, who had been _conveniently_ passing by, beamed from ear to ear when he saw the two.

"Lovely to see you together!" he boomed in a jolly tone. "Ms. Greene and Mr. Riddle, may I introduce you to Mrs. Bagshot? Bathilda, these are two of the most extraordinary students I have ever come across…"

The old woman smiled at them, showing her gums and fake teeth. She had white stringy hair and wrinkled tanned skin, and Morgana was expecting an ancient sour woman, like Mrs. Cole.

However, she was completely flabbergasted to find that Mrs. Bagshot was full of energy and enthusiasm.

"Hello, my dears!" she beamed. With a surprisingly strong grip she shook the pair's hands while wobbling precariously on her cane. "Always a pleasure to meet bright young minds like you two. Horace's told me all about you!"

Tom recovered first from her lively introduction and smiled back politely. "Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Bagshot," he replied charmingly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you the author of _Hogwarts: A History_?"

At her pleased nod, he continued working his charisma on her. "I've read it too many times to count, you know. Such a useful book to have around in your first year, and written by such a _wise_ person too," Tom laughed. Mrs. Bagshot laughed with him, involuntarily reminding Morgana of her earnest friend Fiona.

"You charmer, you!" she said, evidently pleased. "I'm glad you've read it. I always reckoned it would be handy, especially with Albus' many complaints of constantly being lost in the castle during his first year. Ah, the trouble he would get into with his friends!"

Morgana's ears perked up and her interest grew. "Albus? As in Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes, darling," Bagshot smiled, her wrinkled lips twitching upwards. "I shouldn't have been surprised that you know him – he is your teacher, isn't he?" Tom's smile became fixed and Morgana suddenly remembered that he hated Albus Dumbledore with a passion that she couldn't comprehend.

"You said he got into lots of trouble?" He asked politely, adding an undertone of curiosity to his voice. The elderly woman nodded and launched into her tale with earnest. "Yes, quite a lot of trouble in fact. Of course, he was a bright, curious lad, and that eccentric streak has always been there, in case you're wondering." Here, she laughed, and Morgana silently urged her to get to the point.

Bagshot coughed a bit before continuing with her story. "Albus was well known in his small town, Godric's Hollow, but he usually hung around with that blond boy from Durmstrang. They spent hours together, and I think Aberforth felt a bit lonely when they did, while tending his sister." Tom nodded encouragingly for her to continue, although Morgana could see him filing away tidbits of information for later.

"The two got up to a cauldron-full of fun and adventure, always exploring together and pranking their neighbors. Of course, the pair were destined to be friends the second they met – both brilliant minds and constantly curious about the world of magic. They would discuss magical theories that even I didn't understand, and once I caught them talking about their own futures. As if they had a clue!" Bagshot joked and Morgana forced a laugh.

"But what did they do together? Are they still friends?" Tom asked. The old lady bobbed her head, smiling. "Patience, dear, patience! I was just about to get to that," she said playfully.

"Anyway, Albus and his dear friend actually spent most of their time researching. The silly boys wanted to know about the Deathly Hallows. I still recall the numerous times they came knocking at my door, begging me to tell them the story of the Three Brothers once more – "

Tom's head jerked up in surprise while Morgana looked on in puzzlement. "The Deathly Hallows? What are they?" Bagshot seemed pleasantly surprised and her wrinkled face shone.

"You mean you don't know?" she smiled. "But then, all the better! I shall tell the story once more, just like I did with Albus."

And so the old witch told Morgana the tale of three brothers, who met Death on a bridge and practically made a deal with the devil. She explained about the legendary Elder Wand, the most powerful weapon in the history of wizardkind that finally murdered the eldest brother; the Resurrection Stone, a simple smooth rock that could bring back the dead and eventually killed the second brother; and the Invisibility Cloak that could last for millennia and protected the final brother from the prying eyes of Death itself.

She described the sign of the Deathly Hallows: a triangle with a circle in the center of it, and a straight line connecting all three. For some reason, the description struck a chord with Morgana. It sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place where she might have seen the symbol.

"Anyway," the ancient woman puffed, out of breath from talking so much. "As I was saying, Albus and his companion believed in this tale. Of course, it is just an old bedtime story for the children, about as real as Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump." Bathilda Bagshot laughed again, still energetic. "But the two thought it was real, and after that the details have escaped me."

"Did they still remain friends?" Tom asked persistently. Bagshot frowned, crinkling her kind features. "I don't think so," she decided finally. "I don't remember Albus' friend's name, but I haven't seen him around for decades so, no, I suppose not."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Bagshot," Tom smiled pleasantly. "It was quite a tale, and it was very interesting to hear about the origins of our _esteemed_ professor." The mild old lady beamed back at her handsome companion, not noticing the sarcasm in his voice. "Oh no," she assured the two. "The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Greene." With that, she waved her gnarled hands at them and hobbled away on her cane.

Morgana immediately turned to Tom. "The Deathly Hallows?" she asked. "Doesn't that intrigue you? Another way to become immortal, perhaps?" He shook his head. "It's just an old wives' tale," he said dismissively. "What's interesting is that Albus Dumbledore had a potential _lover."_

She choked. "_Lover_?" she spluttered. "Bagshot never said he had a lover!"

Tom winked at her. "But she implied it. Come on, hours away together, constantly spending time with him instead of his own family, discussing theories and futures with each other… doesn't that ring a bell?" Morgana's eyes widened. "Dumbledore's friend was his… partner?"

Tom shrugged, smiling smugly. "Probably," he replied. "But I just need to investigate it a bit more, and dig up some information. After that, I'll finally have some blackmail against him," he said triumphantly. Morgana smiled at him, glad for his success.

"But… do you reckon the Deathly Hallows might be real? After all, Dumbledore and his friend – lover – believed in them…" Tom disregarded this piece of information. "No, although you can research them if you want," he said. "I still think it's just a fairytale though." Morgana nodded.

Suddenly, Tom grinned charismatically, completely changing the mood. "What are we talking about _Dumbledore_ for? Come on, let's go enjoy ourselves, not to mention squeeze some more gossip out of people." His voice dropped to a whisper at the end and she laughed. Tom smirked.

Morgana beamed at him and abruptly pulled him off to the drinks table, partially enjoying the look of surprise on his face and partially using him as a human body shield against Sam Davies' searching gaze. They two talked for a bit, discussing magical theories and Horcruxes, but mostly just enjoying each other's company.

After a few Butterbeers, Tom headed off towards a crowd of women in fancy robes, eyes glinting as he recognized the Minister of Magic's wife, surrounded by her friends.

"Where're you going?" Morgana called out.

"To manipulate some people, of course," Tom replied, smirking. "What else would I do?"

Morgana snickered. She had to feel pity for the group of witches – they wouldn't know what hit them.

**Yeah, I know it feels like a filler chapter, but the information in here is important! Not much action but there will be more in the later chapters. Goodbye for now, and don't forget to read and review! :)**


	27. Deadly Plots

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.**

**Thanks for all your reviews from last chapter! From now on, I will be trying to update on a regular basis every second Saturday. This isn't the best chapter, but enjoy!**

Morgana snickered at Fiona, who rolled her eyes back at her. The pair were sitting in History class, trying not to fall asleep to Binns' monotonous voice. It was nearing Easter, and the teachers were piling on the work they needed to do. Most of it was revision for the upcoming end of year exams, even though they were months away.

On more than one occasion, she had heard several Gryffindor students complain. "It's only February, for Merlin's sake. How are we going to cope in June?" There had already been several mental breakdowns in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

As the class ended, the friends walked towards out chatting, mostly complaining about the amount of homework Binns had just set them. Morgana still couldn't quite believe the _normality_ of the situation– it felt like nothing had ever changed, as if the Chamber of Secrets hadn't ever happened. Fiona was her normal chatty self, Tom was back to being her friend (and maybe more), and the rest of the school was back to its usual, sluggish self.

There was just one thing bothering her.

Morgana had realized earlier that she _had_ seen the Deathly Hallows symbol before. It was Grindelwald's symbol: a vertical line connecting a triangle and a circle inside it. Did that mean the Dark Lord was searching for immortality?

Since last week's encounter with Bagshot, Morgana had been frantically perusing every book in the library about the Deathly Hallows. So far, all she had found was an old copy of Wizarding Fairytales, including the story of the Three Brothers. She had also dug up some ancient records which turned out to be quite informative.

One such record talked about an incident in 1503, at Potter Mansion.

According to the vague scribbles of the parchment, a mysterious robber, whose identity had never been found, had disabled Potter Manor's complex wards and slipped into the house in the dead of the night. They had almost succeeded in robbing the pureblooded family, but somehow the Potters caught the intruder and took their possessions back. The robber had escaped, but although the Potters had reported the incident they refused to tell which object the intruder was after.

She had showed Tom one day in the library, during break, but he had dismissed it as 'an ancient piece of history'. "It's just a robbery, they happen all the time," he said dismissively.

"But this one's special, Tom," Morgana said eagerly. "The Potters refused to talk about what was being stolen, don't you think they would have said so if it wasn't important?"

Tom didn't seem to be listening. Instead, he was scrutinizing her face. "You have bags under your eyes, Morgana," he said finally. She shrugged. "So? I've just been staying up a couple of nights, that's all. Are you even listening to what I'm telling you?"

Tom paused before answering carefully.

"You're very intent on these Deathly Hallows, aren't you?" he asked. She didn't answer. "You've been searching the library for the last week or so, and you don't seem to be very happy today."

"I'm fine," she snapped but Tom continued.

"You shouldn't be so stressed about this. Go get some sleep tonight – it's just a myth."

Morgana shook her head adamantly. "No, Tom, there _is_ something more, I know it," she insisted. He looked at her dubiously. "I'm not crazy!" Morgana said desperately. "The Deathly Hallows are another way to gain immortality, can't you see?"

"Calm down," Tom said flatly. "You're just making mountains out of molehills, Morgana. The Deathly Hallows belong in a story, not in the real world." Morgana breathed in angrily, frustrated. "I'm not going to argue about this, Tom, but just let me trust my instincts, okay?"

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "But you will go to sleep before curfew tonight." Morgana spluttered indignantly. "You can't order me around –"

"You _will_ go to sleep early," he said, cutting her off and leaving no room for argument. She opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it shut again when she saw a dangerous gleam enter his eye.

"Fine," she grumbled. She hated it when Tom won any of their arguments – unfortunately, it tended to happen a lot. "Good," Tom replied, satisfied.

His mood abruptly changed and he smiled at her, taking Morgana by surprise.

"Come on, let's go," he said in a far softer tone. "We have classes to go to." Morgana managed a small smile and picked up her scrolls of parchment, already used to Tom's various mood swings. The Slytherin heir helped her silently and they both walked away, unaware of the narrowed eyes watching their departure.

* * *

Olive Hornby (for who else would it be?) stood behind the tall bookcase, glaring at the pair with angry eyes. She watched her _darling_ Tom and that stinking mudblood talk as if they cared for each other. Ha, as if the Slytherin King would ever think about the wellbeing of a pitiful, attention seeking muggleborn!

She gritted her teeth as Tom gathered up the girl's parchment. The two then turned away and walked out the door, not even noticing her. Olive clenched her fist hard when she heard laughter echoing down the corridor and felt something trickle down her palm.

Unfurling her fingers, she could see that her carefully manicured nails were covered in crimson blood and her smooth skin had a stream of liquid running down it.

Olive scowled at the thought of having to redo her nails. They had taken _ages_ to paint.

She froze when she heard the scuffling of shoes in the next row of shelves. Was someone else there?

"Hello?" she called out, raising her wand, careful not to get blood on the wood. "Show yourself!" A moment's pause and a sneering boy with narrowed eyes and expensive robes stepped out from behind the bookshelf.

Olive breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Cygnus, what are you doing here?" He sniffed. "I could ask you the same question." Doing her best to ignore his terrible accent, Olive scowled. "I asked first, though."

The Lestrange heir sneered at his fiancée. "I was spying on my Lord, happy?" She screwed up her nose as she thought for a bit. "Why would you do that, stupid? Tom doesn't need protection or anything."

"The letter, you vapid bint!" hissed Cygnus angrily. She looked at him blankly. "What letter? And what's _vapid_ supposed to mean?" Her fiancé exhaled impatiently, ignoring her last question. "You know, the letter from our acquaintance. From _G_."

"Oh!" Olive exclaimed. "He wants to recruit Tom, right? Isn't that fabulous!" Lestrange gritted his teeth. "Yeah. Anyway, _G_ says he knows the Greene witch. Apparently, we need to, ahem, remedy their relationship."

"Huh?"

Cygnus groaned. "They're spending too much time together, so we need to make sure Tom gets on track and so that G can recruit him," he explained, in a slow voice, as if talking to a child. Olive bristled at the patronizing tone.

"Right," she snapped. "So we should, like, _kill_ her – mmph!"

Her fiancé had clapped a hand over her mouth. Olive squirmed but she couldn't exactly fight Cygnus by spraying him with perfume. "Stop it," he growled. Reluctantly, she went limp and he removed his hand, wiping it as he did so.

"What was that for?" Olive nearly screeched until she remembered she was in the library. "I'm a pureblood, you can't do that!"

"I'm pureblood too," Lestrange said flatly, sneering at her. "And you don't just go around saying you want to _kill_ someone in the library." Olive made a _humph_ sound in the back of her throat and flipped her hair back.

"Whatever. But we want the same stuff, Lestrange, and we have the same goals and everything." Cygnus gave her a contemptuous look. "And what, exactly, is that?" Olive hissed in anger. "To make that _stupid, attention seeking_ mudblood PAY!"

"You mean, to get Tom recruited by G," Cygnus corrected. "Yeah, that's what I said," Olive said. He sighed in exasperation – why had his family agreed to the marriage contract sealing her as his fiancée?

"Very well than, what's your plan?" he asked sarcastically. To his surprise, Olive responded immediately. "There are new items on sale in Knockturn Alley, my parents told me so. I hear there's also a new shop too – Borgin and Burkes, I think." Cygnus frowned, pondering.

"Anything that could help us?" Olive grinned like a shark, teeth bared.

"They had a Hand of Glory in their front window display, and I reckon there were some lovely skulls at the back too."

Cygnus looked at her appraisingly.

"Yes," he said finally. "Yes, that could work."

* * *

Morgana felt like screaming in frustration as she bent over the piles of parchment on her desk. There was a connection, she knew it! The Deathly Hallows could be a pathway to immortality, couldn't anyone see that?

The common room was almost empty by now and the moon was high in the enchanted sky ceiling. She was sitting at one of the many tables by a window behind a tall bookcase, staring at the crumpled scrolls in desperation.

The records about Grindelwald's rise to power and the Deathly Hallows were connected somehow – she just couldn't seem to find the answer to the growing list of questions she had.

Morgana had been sitting there for over three hours by now and she had lost track of time as the stars appeared and more and more people began heading up to bed. Fiona had already given up on pulling Morgana away from her desk long ago, and when she finally looked up and saw the time she was shocked. She had been so concentrated on the Deathly Hallows that she had even forgotten about curfew.

"You okay?"

She jumped about a foot in the air and before she knew it Morgana had her Basilisk wand digging into Sam Davies' throat. The Quidditch Captain had a look of startled surprise on his face before he stepped back with his hands up, grinning. "Whoa, hold up there," he smiled at her.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I was distracted." Morgana then lowered her wand and sat back down, ready to resume her work. Sam, however, had other ideas. "You've been studying for days, Morgana. Come on, take a break – exams are important but your health should be your first priority." He spoke in a knowing tone and she couldn't help but snap back at him.

"This isn't for exams, Davies," she said brusquely. He flinched at her use of his last name but she found that she wasn't sorry in the least. _He deserves it_, she thought savagely, although why Sam deserved such harsh words she didn't quite know. However, instead of getting angry, he simply nodded silently. "Well, what is it for then?" he asked politely, trying to soothe her.

Morgana sighed, her rage suddenly deflating like a balloon. "I've been researching this symbol," she told him, rubbing her tired eyes. He peered over her shoulder and his eyes widened in surprise. "I know that symbol!" he cried, and Morgana immediately straightened up. "You do? Where?"

"Yeah," Sam grinned. "It's on my friend's –" Here, he stopped abruptly. Morgana leant forwards, eager. "Yes?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, it's a secret."

She felt like smashing her head against the table. "A secret?" she moaned disbelievingly. "Sam, this is _important_! I need this information!" He looked at her uncomfortably. "I'm can't, Morgana, I promised I wouldn't tell." She gritted her teeth before smiling sweetly.

"Oh come on, Sam, you can tell me. You know me, when have I ever lied to you?" she offered. Sam still looked doubtful. "I promise I won't tell, Sam." The boy fidgeted nervously but refused to speak. Morgana sighed softly. She would have to resort to more manipulative methods.

Morgana leant forwards even farther and gave Sam a flirtatious, blinding smile. "I _know_ you're a good person, Sam. You're one of the most delightful people I've ever met, after all." Sam flushed and muttered some modest words. "No, really, Sam," she added, fluttering her lashes while swearing obscenities at him in her mind.

"Thanks, Morgana," he smiled shyly. "You're a really good friend too." Morgana smirked internally and felt like punching the air triumphantly – oh, she knew Sam liked her as more than a friend. She still felt a small pang of guilt, though. Sam was a good acquaintance and a nice person to hang around – she just didn't like him in that way.

"I know you're a really loyal person inside, Sam, but this is important," Morgana said, giving him a hopeful look. "I'd think the world of you if you told me, maybe even more."

Finally, after more _meaningful_ looks, he relented. "Alright, but you can't tell anyone, promise?"

"Of course, Sam," she smirked.

"Okay," he started hesitantly. "I've seen this symbol before. It's the Peverell crest." At her confused look, Sam elaborated. "The Peverells were this old pureblood family – they're mostly gone now, but they're distant relatives of the Gaunts and the Potters." Morgana's eyes widened, but Sam didn't notice and continued on.

"So my friend, Charlus Potter, he has this invisibility cloak. It's a family heirloom and they keep it a close secret, so don't mention it to anyone, okay?" Morgana nodded.

Sam only looked marginally relieved. "Anyway, he uses it for pranks and stuff, and sometimes I come along. Once, when the cloak was visible, I noticed the fabric had a small sign woven into it – the crest of the Peverells. It's the same sign as the one you're researching."

Morgana's mouth was wide open by the time Sam had finished. It all made sense now! The family heirloom the Potters guarded so jealously must be the Invisibility Cloak inherited from the Peverell family. It must also be one of the Deathly Hallows – no ordinary cloak would last through generations.

"Thanks, Sam!" she cried and hugged him. He blushed tomato red and she tried to ignore the fact that she had manipulated him. Morgana gathered up her parchment and scrambled up the stairs into her silent dorm, where she put her scrolls away and lay down on her bed.

"I knew it wasn't just a legend," she whispered to herself. She couldn't wait to tell Tom.

**Liked it? Hated it? Review!**

**By the way, if you have any fanfic recommendations please add that in a reviews - I'm trying to find some good stories to read. Cheers! :)**


	28. Back To London

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

**Just a funny filler to tie up loose ends. Many of you requested this chapter, so here you go!**

The very next morning, before the first rays of sun had touched the tip of Ravenclaw Tower, Morgana sat up in bed and immediately remembered the events of the night before.

She stumbled out of the dorm rooms, almost forgetting to get dressed, before tripping on her way down the staircase. A sleepy Fiona staggered out behind her, awakened from her loud exit. "Where're you going, Morgana?" she mumbled, irritated. "It's too bloody early for any more of your dramatics!"

Morgana laughed and pushed Fiona back up the staircase. "Don't worry, Fiona," she grinned. "I'll be fine! Go back to sleep if you want, there are three more hours until classes." Fiona grumbled but went back to bed anyway.

She sat down in the Great Hall, munching on toast while reading the Daily Prophet, all the while eagerly waiting for Tom to come out. Morgana knew he was an early riser, and she didn't want to miss him in case he went back to pureblood extremist friends.

Finally, after half an hour of waiting, a yawning Tom appeared at the entrance of the hall. "Tom!" His head shot up in surprise at seeing her there so early, and he wandered closer. "Yes?" he asked. Morgana didn't even pause to answer and dragged him out.

"Morgana, I haven't even had breakfast –"

She pulled him into a deserted classroom and shut the door. "Irrelevant," she said, interrupting the Heir of Slytherin in her excitement. "I went digging yesterday and I asked Sam Davies -"

"Sam Davies? The Quidditch Captain is your _boyfriend_ now, is he?" Morgana groaned. "No! Tom, we're just friends."

He snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, right."

She was too excited to care about his comments though, and the words burst out of her mouth. "I found out what the Deathly Hallows are!"

"Excuse me?"

Morgana bobbed up and down on her heels, enjoying Tom's flabbergasted expression. She explained to him all that she had learnt last night, about Charles Potter's invisibility cloak, about the Peverell brothers and about how the symbol of the Deathly Hallows was also Grindelwald's mark. "The Deathly Hallows are real, Tom, and one of them is at Hogwarts!" she crowed, and he shook his head stubbornly.

"They can't be real, Morgana. Fairy tales don't come true."

"Oh yeah? How do you explain the Peverell crest, then? And the Invisibility Cloak?" she retorted. Tom fell silent and fiddled with the ring on his finger. Morgana smirked triumphantly and he shot a murderous glare at her.

"So, if these Deathly Hallows _really_ do exist," Tom questioned her in a skeptical tone, "then how are we going to obtain them? We don't know where the Elder Wand might be, or how to take the invisibility cloak, or even where the Resurrection Stone is…"

Morgana bit her lip. "I'm still working on that," she said, far more confidently than she felt. Tom snorted at her and she flushed. "Hey, I only found out about this yesterday!" she said defensively.

"The first thing we need to do is to get the Invisibility Cloak," Morgana said.

"Obviously," Tom drawled. She scowled and sent an underpowered stinging hex at him. "Ouch! What was that for?" He glared at her angrily and she narrowed her eyes back. "Stop it, Tom. This is our chance to immortality – don't act like a petulant child just because you were wrong."

"I am never wrong," he replied, sulking, but he didn't complain after that.

"Anyway, I know Charlus Potter has the Invisibility Cloak with him, so it should be in Gryffindor Tower, where the dorms should be. Do you know how to get into the rooms?" Tom smirked. "Of course – I am a prefect, after all. I just don't know the password, but they do change it less frequently than us Slytherins."

She nodded. "That's good. I suppose that means we'll have to sneak in and take it ourselves?" "I'm afraid so," he replied smirking. "We can use disillusionment charms, and replace the original Invisibility Cloak with a normal one."

Morgana beamed. "Excellent, now all we need to do is find out the password and we can get the Cloak next week."

Tom's slight smile dropped. "I don't think so." She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Next week is a holiday to celebrate the end of the Chamber of Secrets catastrophe," he told her, on edge. She simply nodded, lips pressed tightly together – they had agreed not to mention the Chamber of Secrets incident unless absolutely necessary.

"I see. Wouldn't that make it easier for us for take it?"

"No," he sighed. "It's compulsory to go back home – the Board of Governors are also searching the school for the Chamber and they don't want any students getting in the way." Morgana stared at him in horror.

"You mean – we'll have to go – the Orphanage?" she asked him, and Tom had never heard her voice become so distressed, so strangled. He just nodded in confirmation and she swore a string of obscenities, some which he had never even heard of before. "Language," he reprimanded her, half amused, half worried.

"Do we really have to?" Morgana asked desperately, clinging to the transparent hope of staying at Hogwarts. "Perhaps we should ask Dippet?"

"I ask the professors to let me stay every summer," he said flatly. "But guess what the old coot Dumbledore says?"

"_Damn it_," she hissed, so angry that she had slipped into Parseltongue. It looked like she would be paying a visit to Wool's Orphanage (and many painful memories) after all these years.

"Bet Mrs. Cole's going to be happy when she sees me back," she muttered.

* * *

The following Sunday, the school was bustling with students lugging heavy trunks behind them and doing some last minute packing. The bright red Hogwarts Express train was there, and as the rest of the Hogwarts said their farewells, Tom and Morgana were boarding the train in a gloomy silence.

They found an empty compartment all to themselves. Fiona was with her brother and Megan further down the train, and Tom's little empire was building itself with the help of Abraxas Malfoy, his loyal right-hand man. The pair lounged across the two seats like kings, Tom reading a complicated Dark Arts book and Morgana amusing herself with a Patronus, annoying her partner at the same time. Despite trying for the last two months, he _still_ couldn't produce a corporeal Patronus.

It irritated Tom to no end.

One and a half hours later, the train jolted to a stop. Silently, the two pulled the trunks off the racks (they had been spelled with a weightless charm) and carried them out of the station. Morgana followed Tom through the streets of Muggle London with a heavy sense of impending doom.

"Do I still share a room with you?" she asked nervously.

Tom nodded. "Yes. Lavina George tried to move in, but thank Circe that didn't last." Morgana groaned. "Oh dear Merlin, I'd forgotten about her! She tried to move in?" He snorted. "Stupid, I know. Don't worry, she didn't take any of your old stuff," he added.

They finally arrived back at Wool's Orphanage. Nothing, as far as Morgana could see, had changed. The paint was still peeling off the grey walls, the flowerbeds hadn't sprouted any flowers yet and the building was as damp and gloomy as she remembered. The ancient, creaking gate was still there, and she slowly pushed it open, wincing at the horrible screech it made.

She missed Hogwarts already.

"Only one week," she muttered to herself. Tom gave her a funny look. "Are you talking to yourself?"

"No," she flushed, and knocked on the heavy wooden door sharply. It swung open a few minutes later, and a skinny old lady appeared on the doorstep. She was wearing a worn nightgown with suspicious brown stains spilling down the front and her hand was clutching a bottle of sherry tightly. Mrs. Cole paled at the sight of Tom.

"You – you're not meant to be back yet!" she spluttered. "And who's this?"

"Surely you remember me, Mrs. Cole?" Morgana smiled sweetly at her. The elderly matron's eyes widened comically and she took a step backwards, face white as a sheet, as if she had seen a ghost.

"_You're the Greene girl_!" she whispered. "But, you're meant to be dead… Tom himself said you were dead... I haven't seen you in what, five years..." Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide as if a huge realisation had struck her. The ancient caretaker sucked in a gasp of air while staring at Tom. "She was dead, but you brought her back, didn't you? It's the only way she could come back. With your, your _freakish powers_."

Morgana blinked incredulously. Mrs Cole couldn't really believe that Tom had raised her from the dead, could she? He wasn't a Necromancer - a necromancer hadn't been born for since the time of Merlin - and Morgana wondered how the Matron could be so stupid, before remembering the drunk woman in front of her was a Muggle.

On her right, Tom smirked at Mrs. Cole knowingly. "Perhaps I did," he replied coolly, vastly amused at the horrified expression upon the wrinkled features in front of him.

"Oh, dear Lord," she whispered, as if in prayer, before hesitantly opening the door and letting them in. They walked in, back straight and heads held high, ignoring the rest of the terrified orphans as they passed through the corridors, dragging their weightless trunks behind them.

Mrs. Cole followed behind them, nervously wringing her hands together. "Abnormal, this is," she kept muttering. "Bringing people back from the dead... freakish powers..." She took a swig of sherry every now and then to calm her nerves.

"You two can't sleep in the same room," she protested, when they reached Tom's room. "Why not?" Morgana glared at the cowering Matron. "It's – it's inappropriate," the old lady stuttered. "A boy and girl over ten can't stay in the same room, I won't allow it…"

"You won't allow it?" Morgana hissed out, dangerously. "Tell me this, _Mrs. Cole_, do _you_ order _us_ around?" Mrs. Cole trembled under the witch's glare, shook her head frantically and scurried off.

Tom, slightly amused, unlocked the Wizarding padlock on the door using his magical signature. The pair entered the room, and Morgana was suddenly hit by a blast of nostalgia.

The bedroom seemed to be frozen in time. Tom's cot was still in the corner of the room, the shelves were still tidy and pushed against one wall, and the tiny desk was immaculately organized. Even her old clothes were hanging up inside the wardrobe. The only thing missing was her bed, which Mrs. Cole appeared with moments later, but she ignored her and simply stood there, drinking in all the details from her childhood.

"Morgana? Morgana!" She blinked and realised Tom had been speaking to her. "Sorry, I wasn't listening," she mumbled. He sighed impatiently and helped her put her trunk under the cot. "Never mind," he muttered, and stowed both their wands away safely in a locked drawer.

* * *

After spending a mere day with the muggles, Morgana was already bored. The orphanage gate was always locked – even the Muggle War had already ended, Mrs. Cole wasn't taking any chances – so they couldn't escape from the dreary building to go into town. All she had was Tom's company to keep her from dying of boredom.

At noon, the inevitable happened. Lavina George came into Tom's room and met Morgana.

"Hellooo? Anyone here?" A high pitched giggle sounded from behind the door, and Morgana sat up from her position on Tom's bed. He looked at her and nodded, so she got up and slowly pulled the door open.

"Good morning Tom, or is it afternoon... it doesn't really matter! I heard you got back and I…" The whining voice trailed off in surprise, and pink painted lips formed a wide O shape.

"What – you can't be here – you!" she spluttered. Morgana grinned, all teeth and no smile. "Hello, Lavina," she replied coolly, looking over the other girl in disgust.

Lavina George didn't seem to have changed in the slightest. Her hair was done up with a ridiculously fancy bow and everywhere Morgana looked there seemed to be pink. Pink blouse, pink skirt, pink shoes – even her fake necklace was pink! She scowled.

Tom smirked and simply stood aside, watching the fight with amused eyes.

Lavina's mouth was open like a goldfish and her chocolate brown eyes were wide. "You're dead!" she shrieked in a high pitched voice. Suddenly, as if remembering something, she glared at her. "Greene, what did you do to Tom, you little freak!" Morgana frowned and shot a confused glance at Tom, who shrugged, still amused.

The Muggle girl continued shrieking at her. "I know what you are – a little freak! You've used your – your freaky powers to enchant Tom. You put a spell on him and made him like you. He would never like you otherwise, you filthy _witch_!"

After a second of startled silence, Morgana burst out laughing. "I enchanted Tom? Really?"

Lavina bristled. "Yes! He wouldn't ever be so mean if you hadn't enchanted him. I bet he's disgusted by you right now, for making him love you. He probably wants to... I don't know, burn you a stake or something! But now that your enchantment's worn off, he probably hates you now, right? _Right_, Tom?"

There was no response. Tom was laughing to hard to talk.

The pink monstrosity sniffed. "Why are you laughing? This is serious – she _bewitched _you! She's – she's controlling you, Tom. Fight back! Save yourself from her evil magic!"

Morgana snickered. "How, exactly, do you know that I _bewitched_ Tom?" Lavina glared at her. "Because, why else would Tom hang out with you? Why else would Tom abandon me and say such horrible things to me if not for you? _Why else would he like you!_" Her voice pitched up hysterically and Morgana raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why, does little Lavina have a crush?" she teased. The spoilt girl tossed her hair back, knocking her fancy bowtie to the ground.

"It's not a crush. It's _true love_," she declared in an obvious tone.

Tom choked on his own laughter next to her and Morgana smirked. "True love, really? Like, in a fairy tale?" she drawled.

"Yes," Lavina said stubbornly.

"Fairy tales don't come true, Lavina. Don't you know that?"

With that, Morgana grabbed Tom and crushed their lips together.

Lavina spluttered in outrage as the two continued snogging right in front of her. "But – you can't do that! Tom's _my_ true love! This – you –"

Morgana ignored her, smirking, and deepened the kiss. Lavina stomped her foot on the ground, shaking in rage.

"You're stealing my – Tom, remember she's a witch – urgh!" Finally, the self-indulged brat left, stamping her feet with angry tears running down her face. Morgana smirked and stepped back, grinning. Tom burst out laughing and fell back on his cot.

"Brilliant, Morgana, brilliant," he guffawed. "Did you _see_ her face?" She chortled. "I know! And you should've heard her – true love! Oh dear Merlin…"

The two fell down, rolling around on the ground in laughter, until Mrs. Cole knocked on the door an hour later, informing them (in bemusement) that dinner was ready.

**Hope you enjoyed, and please review :) Happy Halloween, everyone!**


	29. Smoke

**Disclaimer: All bow down to JK Rowling, creator and ruler of the Harry Potter Empire.**

**Staying true to my two-week schedule. Thanks for all your awesome reviews and recommendations - if you're looking for any good fics, then I'd go with Fate's Favourite by The Fictionist. The Pureblood Pretence, by murkybluematter, has also gotten me hooked.**

"Shut up," Morgana hissed at the smirking face gazing down at her. Tom just raised an eyebrow in amusement and cast the disillusionment spell on himself before she could jump back up.

The pair were in an isolated corridor near the Gryffindor Common Room, preparing to _borrow_ a certain invisibility cloak from a certain Charlus Potter. Morgana had just Disillusioned herself and promptly proceeded to trip over the fake cloak Tom had brought. She lay there on the cold stone, staring up at Tom's amused expression.

"It's not my fault you're so clumsy," he answered, picking up the cloak and somehow having perfect coordination, despite the fact that he couldn't see his body. Morgana groaned as she picked herself up from the floor, cheeks as red as a tomato and suddenly grateful for the fact that she was invisible.

"The prefects will start patrolling anytime soon," she snapped, ignoring Tom. "We should get going."

Morgana lit her wand and cautiously led the way up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, careful not to trip over anything else. She could just imagine the smirk plastered on Tom's invisible face if she did so, the smug git.

The two continued on their way in silence for some time, with Morgana lighting the way forwards and Tom covering the back. The plan seemed to working perfectly – until they encountered a couple of Gryffindor prefects along the way.

"_Nox_," she muttered quietly, and the spark of light at the tip of her wand faded away. She pressed herself against the cold stone walls as a pair of pompous prefects chattered away, their red and gold robes swishing as they walked by. "…oh don't worry, Septimus," one of them said, shaking his head. "I didn't forget."

The other prefect, Septimus, mussed up his red hair. "I hope not. I forgot to change the password last time and Professor Myrriad nearly had my head for it." The other boy snickered. "Well… I may have lost my password sheet for the dorms… so we probably won't be able to get back in…" Septimus Weasley swatted at the other boy, frowning as he laughed. "It's not funny, Henry," he said sharply, stopping to a halt, right where Tom was. "I bet the only reason no more Gryffindors were attacked was because Hagrid kept forgetting the password to get in. That was the only thing keeping us safe at night."

Henry shuddered. "To think we were sleeping in the same room as that _monster_… sorry, Septimus. I know how much you hate the whole Chamber of Secrets thing, but I was only kidding, you know?" Septimus Weasley nodded stiffly. "It's alright. Come on, we have rounds to do."

The two Gryffindors continued on their way, leaving Morgana numb and staring at them in shock. When the pair turned the corner, she immediately felt in the air for Tom and dragged him into one of the many alcoves around the school. "Let go of me," he said, his disembodied voice making the stern tone even scarier. Morgana frowned, even though he couldn't see her. "Did you _have_ to go and frame Hagrid?" She heard a sigh and felt his wrist wriggle out of her iron grip. "Of course I didn't, Morgana, I want to get expelled from Hogwarts," he answered sarcastically.

She hissed at him like an angry cat. "Did you hear what those prefects said? About him being a monster?" Tom snapped back at her. "Why do you care? It's not like you care about the oaf." She sighed. "I don't know him at all, but don't you even feel guilty for expelling an innocent student?" There was no response.

"Look, are we here to argue or to get the Invisibility Cloak?" Tom finally answered. "We've already wasted far too much time here, and did you hear those prefects? They've changed the password to the Gryffindor dorms." Morgana grumbled about the sudden change of subject, but she nodded in agreement. "So what do we do now?" Tom smiled grimly. "Plan B." Morgana frowned. "There's a plan B? I've never heard you mention a Plan B."

"Well now you have," he smiled at her, shark-like. "It involves you flying over Hogwarts."

"Excuse me?"

* * *

"I don't like this idea," she proclaimed as Tom went over the plan once more. "Why am I the one flying hundreds of feet up in the air? I could die up there!" "Better you than me," he smirked. She huffed. "Git," she muttered under her breath. Tom ignored her and started casting. "Get ready."

She sighed and stood on the edge of the parapet. For Tom's plan to work, they had to start at the top of the freezing cold Astronomy Tower, opposite Gryffindor tower. She couldn't help but shiver when Tom's wand was pointed at her, but before she could do anything else he had muttered a spell and a curious sensation spread from her gut outwards to the tips of her toes. It felt as if her skin was shrinking and stretching over her body like a glove, and her hair was growing in reverse, backwards into her skull.

A few moments later, Morgana Greene became a piece of parchment.

Tom grinned and picked her up, folding her carefully into a paper airplane. It was a strange feeling, to be picked up by someone while being a thin, flat sheet of parchment. She couldn't really _see_, per se, but somehow, she knew exactly where Tom was even without senses. She knew that he was raising his wand at her again, and she heard him say the words _wingardium leviosa_, even though she had no eyes or ears. It was a very strange experience.

Morgana felt herself fly through the air as a paper airplane, guided by Tom's spell, and she felt herself gliding through an open window, into Charlus Potter's dorm room.

She lay on the floor for several minutes, waiting for Tom's temporal transfiguration to end. After some time, she could feel her actual senses returning and groaned when she realized she had landed on top of the cold stone floor. Her human form regained, Morgana leant out of the windowsill and waved at the shadowy figure on the other side silently, who then disappeared after a wave back. She turned around and surveyed the messy room.

There was dirty laundry strewn everywhere; Quidditch posters were stuck on the wall; a shelf of books was organized haphazardly; the bed sheets were tangled and rumpled – but despite all this the room felt cozy and welcoming. However, she panicked when she realized two of the five beds in the room were already occupied. Loud snores filled the room, and Morgana quickly placed every sleeping Gryffindor in the dorm under a mild Bewitched Sleep.

She strode over to the red and gold trunk in the corner of the room, making quick work of the wards around the embossed lid. She rummaged through the trunk carefully, digging right to the bottom before her fingers brushed against a piece of slippery fabric. Morgana grinned in triumph as she pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. She traced the Peverell Crest embroidered into the corner of the cloth reverently and watched as the cloak covered her hands and disguised them seamlessly. She marveled at the magical artifact – Tom would be so pleased.

Suddenly, just as she had slipped her hand into her pocket and taken out the replacement cloak, she heard heavy footsteps coming up the staircase. As fast as lightening, she slipped the Invisibilty Cloak over her. It hugged her body, fitting like a glove yet somehow still managing to feel like flowing water. Morgana's hand darted out, slipping the fake Demiguise-skin cloak into the trunk and shutting it just in time.

The door opened and Charlus Potter entered with his wild black hair sticking up everywhere after playing Quidditch. He was still snickering about something, but quieted down when he saw his dorm mates asleep. "See you tomorrow," he told someone outside the door, before shutting it gently and dumping his Quidditch gear down on his bed. Morgana held her breath when he walked by her hidden form and opened his trunk, and her heart leapt into her throat when she spotted the frown on his face.

"Strange," he muttered to himself. "I don't remember using the Cloak recently…" She tensed as he looked through his trunk. "Hmm," he hummed. "Henry must have been using it then, to meet Augusta," he finally said out loud. She let out a breath of relief, exhaling slowly, as he shrugged and went into the bathroom to change. Once the door was shut, Morgana immediately crept to the door and slipped out quietly, crowing silently at her success.

She moved furtively through the Gryffindor Common Room, wincing at the rowdy crowd and garish colors, and rushed through the portrait door the second it opened. Morgana turned the corner and saw Tom there, casually waiting for her and using the title of Head Boy as an excuse. She strode over, invisible under the cloak, and jumped out at him when he wasn't paying attention.

Tom whirled around and automatically took on a dueling stance. "Avada-"

Morgana's eyes went wide at the words, and she blinked at the wand suddenly digging into her throat. "Hey, Tom! It's just me!" she said hurriedly. He lowered his wand and let his arm hang loosely by his side, but glared at her nonetheless. "Don't _do_ that," he hissed. Morgana narrowed her eyes. "You were going to use _Avada Kedavra_, weren't you?"

He lifted one shoulder and dropped it in a half-shrug. She sighed. "You can't just go around killing people, you know." Tom _hmmed_ and eyed the starry fabric by her side, ignoring her question as usual. "Is that it? The real cloak?" She flashed him a smug smile. "Oh, its definitely a Hallow. We're going to have a lot of fun with this."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "If I knew transfiguring you into parchment was going to make you this happy, then I suppose I'd better do it more often." She scowled at him.

"Git," she muttered.

* * *

Morgana headed back to her dormitory with the cloak, ignoring Tom's protests that he should keep it instead. She folded the fabric up carefully and slipped it into a secret compartment in her trunk (spelled with a strong Stinging Curse and Notice-Me-Not charms, of course) before flopping back onto her bed, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. After much tossing and turning, though, she finally managed to fall into a deep sleep.

Morgana had a very strange dream. She dreamed that she was in Gryffindor Tower, waiting outside the portrait door of the dorms for something. The corridor was dark and gloomy, and all of a sudden the torches lining the walls started flickering and the shadows seemed to stir. The cracks in between each slab of stone in walls started growing bigger, and darkness started oozing out from each crevice. A thick, black liquid started dripping down the walls, reminding Morgana of oil, but the mysterious substance was clearly something far more sinister.

It crept along the floors, slowly coating everything in a ominous black sludge. To Morgana's horror, she could see that whatever _it_ touched started decaying immediately. The ground shrank and crumbled and the ancient walls became moldy in seconds, collapsing as the viscous solution slid further towards her. She tried to scramble backwards but her feet were glued to the floor and her body stayed as stiff as a board. The slime seemed to suddenly speed up and it began covering her from head to toe. Her screams were muffled by the thick liquid seeping into her mouth and nose, suffocating her, filling her lungs…

Suddenly she was in her little room in Grindelwald's prison. She was shackled to the wall again, and somehow the prison seemed smaller. Morgana tried to break the chains but they refused to budge. Abruptly, a strange smell permeated the air. It made her think of a curious combination of vinegar and an overwhelming amount of sugar. Green curls of smoke filled the room, fogging up her vision and making it difficult to breathe. Morgana attempted to hold her breath, but the foul smell still went into her lungs, making her cough uncontrollably. A high, giggly voice drifted through the room. "Not so great now, are you, you mudblood whore?"

The sound of breathless, slightly insane laughter startled Morgana out of her dreams. She woke up and tried to gasp for air, only to find that she couldn't breathe properly. She tried to sit up in her bed only to realize that her wrists and ankles were magically bound together and she couldn't move her body at all. Her eyes snapped open and to her shock, she saw a pair of brown eyes glaring back. She wriggled around and opened her mouth to scream, but Olive Hornby beat her to it.

"Don't bother," she tittered, poking at the gag around Morgana's mouth. Olive grinned when a wisp of green smoke escaped from the cloth, and Morgana's eyes widened when she realized that she really _was_ choking on green smoke. She squirmed and growled at Hornby, who simpered at her. "No need to look so worried, Mudblood. I've simply put something in your mouth – bet you have a lot of experience with _that_ – and this simply releases toxic fumes when in contact with saliva."

Morgana started spluttering and coughing in a desperate attempt to get _it_, whatever it was, out of her mouth or at least alert Fiona, but she realized that it was pointless. There was a glimmering shield surrounding her bed which she recognized as a One-Way Ward. It would not let anything through it, be it sound or smoke, unless the caster wished it to be.

"Such irony," her nemesis sighed. "To die in your own bed, only seconds away from your friends." Morgana snarled at the girl in green and silver in anger and Olive looked down at her in contempt. "I won't bother explaining myself to you. All you need to know is that you _deserve_ this, Mudblood," she spat, and turned on her heel and left, not disabling the ward.

Morgana glared daggers at the back of Olive's head. Sure, she knew that the girl hated her, but even homicide was a bit much. She tried to snort the fumes out through her nostrils, but only a small amount of smoke was emitted. She tried to hold her breath and keep the poisonous air out of her lungs, but that only made her choke even harder.

She could feel the toxins rushing through her nerves, making her feel weak and limp. Her mind started wandering to random thoughts as her nervous system was attacked. What did this poison do anyway? Would it kill her slowly? Would it suck the life out of her in some painful Dark ritual? Would she go blind and deaf first? A horrible thought struck her. Would it _take her magic_? Would she stay a Muggle for the rest of her life, shunned by society? What would Tom say – would he even care?

All these thoughts swarmed through her feverish mind, and in Morgana's sub consciousness she sensed a small tingling at the tips of her fingers. It was like pins and needles, but stronger. As the green smoke filled her mouth her body began to spasm wildly, with only the bindings around her arms and legs restraining her thrashing limbs. A coppery red liquid filled her mouth as she bit down on her tongue _hard_ and her white gag turned rose red. The tingling in her fingertips grew stronger.

She glanced desperately out of the corner of her eye at the peacefully sleeping Fiona beside her. Oh, how she wished that she could awaken her friend! She coughed, more weakly this time, and she felt her stomach do a backflip. The poison wasn't doing any favors to her digestive system – she felt like her guts were going to turn inside out. Her thoughts turned to Olive Hornby, and a surge of immense hatred welled up inside of her.

The tingling in her hands grew even stronger and spread up throughout her arms. Her limbs shook with suppressed power, and in Morgana's delirium she didn't notice her skin practically glowing with magic. Her body continued to shake as the greenish smoke invaded her body, but as her angry magic spread from her arms to her chest the spasms grew even more violent. The pores in her porcelain pale skin opened up and strange golden wisps of gas escaped.

Golden swirls filled the air, shooting towards the glittering ward and hammering against it with an enormous amount of force. The blue dome began to shiver in protest as her magic, alive and wild and airborne, threw itself against the shield, gaining momentum with every blow. Cracks appeared and spread throughout the dome, and with one final smash her magic blew apart the ward, shattering it into pieces with a magnificent _boom_. Fiona and the other Ravenclaws sat up, rubbing their eyes in bewilderment.

Morgana's magic wouldn't stop, though. There had been so much magic trapped within the shield and the pressure had built up so much that her power had taken a physical form. Now that the ward was destroyed, her untamed magic exploded outwards into the room.

The magical bindings around her were shattered; her gag was burnt to a crisp; the green gas was expelled from her body entirely; the bedframe collapsed; all the wardrobes started rattling; the bookshelves flipped over; the windows shattered outwards; the objects in the dorms imploded; the door blew open –

It was, to put it mildly, awesome in its destructive power.

Morgana opened her mouth and gasped, releasing a massive cloud of green gas. Fiona, who had gotten up screaming, gaped at her. "Morgana! Are you okay? Morgana? Morgana!" She turned her head to face worried brown eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. She had used up so much of her magical stores that she had grown weak and tired. She felt herself drifting away and her eyes began to close…

The last thing she saw was Fiona's anxious glance, before the world went dark.

**Hope you enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) **


	30. Revenge Is Sweet

**Disclaimer: How do you make a Harry Potter disclaimer interesting? With puns, of course.**

**This isn't my best chapter, but it is very important. Enjoy!**

Tom stretched back in his armchair with a book in one hand and his wand in the other. His seat was at the center of the Slytherin Common Room, with all the important pureblood Slytherins arranged around him according to rank. Much like the Ravenclaws had their own house system, the Slytherins had established their own hierarchy within the walls of the dungeons. Of course, he was on top of the heap.

He had clawed his way up slowly, gaining the respect and support needed using his looks, flattery and sometimes brute force. At the beginning of his first year, Tom had been the runt of the pack, the mudblood in Slytherin, the outcast. Olive Hornby had flipped her hair at him, Lestrange had taunted him with insults and sharp words, Black had ignored him and Malfoy had sneered at him like a piece of dirt on his shoe. But, five years on, Tom had proved them wrong.

He had charmed Hornby with his perfect manners and dashing looks. He had Lestrange under his heel as his entertaining lapdog the moment he revealed his power to speak Parseltongue. He won Black over with his charisma and ambition. He made Malfoy bow to him as his lord and master with his sheer amount of power. And now, Tom was the king of Slytherin.

He casually flipped the page, enjoying the attention that the simple action caused. Tom eyed his followers, who hurriedly looked away from him. Lestrange was staring at the pretty, blue eyed Joanna Greengrass, Black was doing an Astronomy assignment and Malfoy was showing off his fancy new broom. However, someone was conspicuously missing.

_Where did Hornby go?_

As if the witch had heard him, he saw the stone entrance of the common room slide open. A smug Olive Hornby pranced into the room and sat primly on the edge of the leather couch next to Tom, batting her lashes. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes and forced a smile at her. "Good evening, Olive," he said smoothly, and shuddered when she tittered.

"Good evening, Tom," she giggled in a high voice. Then, to Tom's surprise, she turned and winked at Lestrange. It was clearly meant to be inconspicuous, but his honed senses picked up the small action and it baffled him. Hornby had made her disdain for Lestrange's marriage contract clear since third year – why would she wink at him now, of all times? He frowned.

Something was wrong.

He crossed his legs, laid back and pretended to read his book once more. Instead, he listened closely to Lestrange and Hornby's whispered conversation. It was _informative_, to say the least.

"Have you done it?" The heir to the Lestrange line hissed at his fiancé.

"Of course," she sniggered. "You should have been there. The pain and horror on her face was _beautiful_."

"But did it work? Is she gone?"

"Do I hear doubt in my skills? Tut, tut, Cygnus, you know me better than that," Hornby simpered. "I tied her up nice and tight – there's no way she'll be able to escape."

The uneasy feeling in Tom's gut grew. He had a good idea of who they were talking about. Casually, he shifted in his seat and leaned over. "Excuse me, Hornby? I want to talk to you for a second. _In private_," he added when he saw Lestrange get up. The silly girl got up, excited, her eyelashes fluttering wildly as she followed Tom into an abandoned classroom. "Yes, Tom?" she simpered when he shut the door and cast a privacy ward.

"What did you do?"

It was more of a statement than a real question. Tom observed Olive's face go pale white, then red, then white once more. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, voice trembling. He stepped forwards and she froze in fear at his piercing, accusing gaze. "I know you've done something to Morgana, Hornby – and don't even _think_ about escaping!" The girl opposite him had been slowly sneaking away towards the door and she squeaked when he raised his wand at her.

"Now I'll ask again. What did you do?" Hornby squirmed under his intense glare, but at least she was smart enough to restrain from screaming or running away. "Tell me!" he hissed, and she flinched.

Tom cursed silently. At this rate he was getting nowhere.

"Tell me what you did, Olive. I'm not going to hurt you after this," he purred. He could see the confusion on her face as he suddenly switched tactics. "Don't worry, _dear_. You know me," he said sweetly as Olive began relaxing. "I would never hurt anyone on purpose, not to mention _kill_ them. So all you have to do is just tell me what you did."

He could sense her fear settling down as he continued coaxing her out. "I would never hurt _you_. Who could? Your reputation as the prettiest girl around precedes you." _Not to mention your reputation as the biggest bitch around_, he added silently. Olive blushed, oblivious to the thoughts in his head, and she began playing with the hem of her skirt. "Come on, Olive. You know I'd never tell, and I would never be angry at you." She giggled.

"You'll never tell, will you?" Tom did not answer and simply smiled at her charmingly. He marveled at Hornby's ability to completely change attitudes in the span of a second. She had totally forgotten his threatening attitude a few minutes ago, and she was now giggling like a first-year Hufflepuff. "Okay, Tom," she twirled a lock around her finger and leant in on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

"I slipped Greene a new invention from Knockturn Alley. It's ground hellebore locked into a magical sphere that can only be opened by me." Tom arched an eyebrow. Hellebore grew in many different varieties and almost all of them were poisonous, however it was not easily ingested as a raw ingredient.

"Ground hellebore? How would anyone ingest that?" Hornby giggled. "Oh, Tom, you're supposed to be the potions expert! It's a recent discovery – you can eat raw hellebore if it's been vaporized into gas." Tom tensed as he realized the severe implications of this.

"Morgana," he breathed, and bolted out of the room, ignoring Hornby's cry of surprise.

* * *

She sat up, gasping for air before feeling her back ache and laying back down. Morgana blinked rapidly at the white sheets and the symbol of Healing (a winged serpent wrapped around a wand) embroidered into the blanket and squinted at the bright light. She was in the Ravenclaw – no, she was in the Hospital Wing, wasn't she? Morgana struggled to sit up, confused. The last thing she remembered was lots and lots of green smoke…

_Hornby_! She hissed in pain when her hand reflexively clenched, bringing an incredible amount of pain to her arm. "Calm down," a baritone voice said by her side. Morgana turned around to see Tom sitting next to her with dark circles under his eyes. "Hey," she mumbled weakly. "Nice to see you." She felt touched that Tom had stayed beside her – even though the action itself was useless, she could still appreciate the sentiment. However, all these rare emotions of intimacy were shadowed by the overpowering need to murder Olive Hornby.

"Where's Hornby, Tom, I need to kill her –" She lurched forwards to try and get out of the tangled sheet but grimaced as a loud _crack_ echoed around the room. Her bones had been weakened by the hellebore and the cracking noise was her hip bones creaking in protest at her sudden actions. Tom held her back, alarmed. "Relax, Morgana. You still need to heal," he said commandingly, and she sagged back into the uncomfortable hospital bed. "She poisoned me though," Morgana protested in a weak voice. "Hornby put hellebore in my mouth-"

"Yes, I know," Tom cut her off, frowning. Morgana studied his facial expressions carefully and asked hesitantly. "So has Hornby been apprehended yet? You know about it, so…"

"No, the rest of Hogwarts don't know. Hornby hasn't been caught," Tom answered reluctantly. "_Excuse_ _me?_" Morgana burst out. "She nearly killed me, for Merlin's sake! I only survived by sheer luck and she's gotten away with it?"

Tom shook his head. "You escaped because of your magic, Morgana. Apparently, your raw magic shattered the Silencing ward around your bed and alerted the other Ravenclaws. You also destroyed half of Ravenclaw Tower." Morgana gaped at him.

"You're joking!"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"So, let me guess. Dippet decided to keep this whole thing under wraps, didn't he?" Morgana bit out. "Yep," Tom sighed. "He 'didn't want to mar the school's reputation' after the whole Chamber of Secrets thing. The whole of Hogwarts is under the impression that a harmless experimental spell went awry and shattered the _ancient_ foundations of Ravenclaw Tower."

"They actually believe that?" Morgana asked incredulously. People could be incredibly stupid sometimes. "Please say Dippet's conducting an investigation at least."

"Everyone knows it's Hornby, but no one has any solid proof. You've been asleep for so long so they don't have any witnesses to who did it. Besides, since they're keeping it a close secret, they can't properly question or apprehend her without raising suspicions," Tom told her. Morgana cursed.

"But I'm awake now – surely my word counts for something?"

"Hornby's parents are very influential in pureblood circles," Tom informed her. "One whiff of an official investigation and a huge fuss will be taken to the Wizengamot."

"So we have to find a way to flesh her out into telling the truth in front everyone," mused Morgana.

"Yes," Tom agreed and smirked. "I have a feeling you'll enjoy your revenge."

A few weeks later, Morgana was out of the Hospital Wing and back into the routine of daily life. When she had firstly showed her face in Potions, Olive Hornby had spluttered quietly and glared daggers at her all day. She had felt extremely smug, until she realized that the Slytherin would just keep trying to murder her until she actually died.

Hopefully, that wouldn't happen for a while.

Now, as Morgana stepped into the Great Hall for her morning breakfast, she prepared to watch and enjoy as her plan went in motion. She was going to savor the sensation of Olive's humiliation.

She watched in anticipation as the pureblooded witch sauntered to her seat and started gossiping right away. "Did you _see_ the new edition of Witch Weekly? Oh, that dress was _heavenly_…" Morgana wondered how anyone could survive such inane conversation. Who wanted to talk about dresses when you had magic at your fingertips? The problem with purebloods like Hornby was that they took magic for granted, because they had been raised with it all around them. This narrow-minded attitude may have helped her in first year, but now she was just as plain as the rest of the fifth years who hadn't furthered themselves. _Perhaps pureblooded blood could be more powerful than muggleborns, but if you didn't have the skill or ambition to extend yourself, you would end up nowhere, just like Hornby_, Morgana thought.

As her target sipped at her pumpkin juice, Morgana gave a shark-like smile, sending shivers down people's spines when they looked at her. Suddenly, a loud wail echoed around the Great Hall, and people turned to look and stare at the Slytherin table. There was a stunned silence for several moments, but it was soon broken by when a seventh-year in green and silver began snickering. The laughter spread throughout the table and in no time the whole school was laughing at Olive Hornby.

Morgana snuck a glance at the girl and almost felt sorry for her. The usually gorgeous girl now had writhing, green snakes for hair and her face was old and wrinkled. Her eyes were a sickly yellow and her nails were curled over. The slim physique she had possessed before was gone, replaced with a large beer belly and short, fat legs. Her skin was scaled and dry and flaking and covered with horrible, red scars.

She looked just like Medusa – a monster straight out of Greek mythology.

"What is it? Is it my hair?" Olive was oblivious to her horrible appearance, and frantically patted her head, shrieking when she felt the writhing snakes. "Oh, sweet merlin! Oh, what happened to my beautiful hair… oh, god," she moaned. Everyone around her snickered or moved away from her, disgusted. "Someone take this off me!" She kept screaming. "Joanne! Go to my dorm room, get my beauty potions!"

Joanna Greengrass sneered and shook her head. "Why would I do that? All these years, waving your expensive beauty potions in my face, boasting and bragging about how _pretty_ you were – we'll see how you really look without those potions now!" There were delighted gasps all around – never before had there been such a huge scandal in Hogwarts.

"Merlin, no wonder she's so pretty. Beauty potions, who knew?"

"I always _thought_ that she looked fake…"

"Wonder what she looks like under all those false glamours and stuff?"

The words _fake _and _potions_ flew around the Hall. Despite the professors' attempts at calming everyone down, the entire student population only got more excited and rowdy. This was really _juicy_ gossip – all the girls were talking about it, laughing and whispering; all the boys were staring at her disgust, most of them her ex's; and even some of the teachers were silently exchanging bets under the table. Tom was silently snickering behind his hands.

Morgana, on the other hand, was so shocked that she could barely react. She had planned this prank herself – cooked up all the ingredients in her potion, slipped it into the girl's goblet on her own, made every detail perfect – but she could never have imagined that Hornby would be so stupid as so to blurt out her dirty little secrets when panicked. How did that girl ever get sorted into Slytherin?

Originally, the prank was only designed to make Hornby look like the ugly, snakelike Medusa from a Greek tale Morgana had heard a long time ago, back in the orphanage. Now, it had turned into much, much more than that. This had completely _ruined_ Olive Hornby – Morgana almost felt sad for her.

She had revealed that she used beauty potions, so there went Olive's trump card.

She had lost all reputation when she broke down into tears in front of the Slytherins.

She now had no protection against all the people she had been rude to, who were seeking revenge.

She would probably ruin her marriage contract and become disowned and destitute.

She stared at the writhing, tearful mess opposite her. Olive Hornby had turned from a high and haughty pureblood heiress to a blubbering, ugly mess in front of her. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. The poor girl suddenly got up from the table, unable to stand the taunts and jeers anymore and ran out of the massive oak doors of the hall, tears streaming down her disfigured face. Angry, jealous words followed her all the way.

Children could be so cruel.

**Did you enjoy that? Too cruel? Review and tell me what you thought!**


	31. Attack On Hogsmeade

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.**

**So, loads of you lovely reviewers have been asking: How can Morgana speak Parseltongue if she's a muggleborn? This chapter answers that question.**

**Other reviewers have also expressed a wish for Morgana to be darker. As for that, I'm currently writing a new fic (Rise Of The Slytherin Empire) with a much darker main character. I'm having a bit of trouble with names though... any suggestions?**

**Finally, as to that one flamer, I would say thank you for the criticism but I'm sorry to say that I wouldn't mean it.**

**Enjoy!**

Olive sat at the very end of the Slytherin table, isolated and alone. She stared at her empty plate, feeling depressed. How had things gone so wrong?

A week ago, she had been the Queen of her own little empire. Other girls had simpered to her, whether they wanted to or not. She had been filthy rich and could fill the Great Hall with all the inheritance gold she would earn once she came of age. All Slytherins who wanted to get somewhere had to pander to Olive Hornby to climb their way up the social ladder.

Now look at her. Sitting at the end of the table, the area reserved for the outcasts of Slytherin, the seats furthest from the Slytherin Court. Furthest away from Tom Riddle. She had been pushed away and scorned by all in her house; wallowing in disgrace and hated by everyone who had once respected her.

Olive stared longingly at the other end of the table, where all the well respected Slytherins sat. Her ex-fiancé, Cygnus Lestrange, noticed her pining gaze and sneered at her. He said something to Malfoy, who was next to him, and the blond aristocrat glared at her with cold gray eyes. She shrank back and quickly turned her attention back to the food in front of her.

Once it had been revealed that she used beauty potions and glamours, the whole school had sniggered behind her back and sometimes laughed at her outright. She had been called a fake and once her secret had been revealed, she had nothing else to impress people with. Olive used to enjoy watching the boys' longing stares and the girls' jealous glances, but now all that the other students' would do was sneer at her and ignore her.

Even Cygnus had shoved her aside one day and leered at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing!" she spluttered at him. "You're my fiancé, you're supposed to show me respect…" Her voice trailed off as she realized that no one had shown her respect for days. The heir of Lestrange sneered at her.

"Finally realized that you're nothing to me now?" he spat. "What do you mean?" Olive stuttered. Despite the many disparaging comments she had churned out throughout the years, she had never felt the force of sharp, cutting words until now.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Cygnus started laughing. It was not a kind laugh – the sound was grating and sounded like nails scraping down a chalkboard. "Our marriage contract has been… terminated." Olive stumbled backwards in shock.

"Terminated?" She repeated, in a high faint voice. She couldn't believe it. All her life, she had told she would be married off into a high-standing, rich pureblooded family. She would inherit her husband's money and she would be able to spend it on all the jewelry she wanted, as long as she produced a heir. These were the rules Olive lived her life by – and now she had fallen even further into disgrace. For any pureblooded woman, having been rejected or having a terminated marriage contract was the worst insult anyone could give them.

"Yes, terminated," Lestrange smirked. "Thank Merlin! I dreaded imagining my life being married to _you_. Good luck finding any pureblood husband after this fiasco," he snorted. "Or perhaps, no one will take you and your parents will do everyone a favor and marry you off to a _Muggle_."

Olive couldn't take his harsh words any more; she burst into tears and ran down the corridor.

* * *

The next day, as Morgana settled down into her seat, she heard the murmurs and buzz of gossip around her. Fiona bounced into her seat next to her, beaming from ear to ear. "Guess what?" she squealed. Before Morgana could reply, Fiona blurted out, "Olive Hornby's leaving Hogwarts!"

She sat there, dumbfounded, staring at her friend's expectant face. "Well? Aren't you happy?" Fiona demanded. "She's called you a… _you-know-what_ ever since you've arrived – I thought you hated her…

"Morgana? Hellooo?" Morgana snapped back to attention. "Oh, um, yeah," she nodded in abysmal ignorance. Her friend sighed and turned away. "Never mind," the girl muttered, and continued to chat with Megan enthusiastically.

Inside, Morgana was torn between happiness and guilt. How could she celebrate and dance around in joy when she knew that she was to blame for one student's misery? She had seen Olive Hornby the past few days – the girl looked miserable and withdrawn. Her quietness was disturbing and slightly worrying, so unlike the Olive Hornby of last week. Her previously cruel eyes were now dead and dull, and her formerly shiny locks were tangled and oily.

Yesterday, just because Morgana couldn't bear it, she had deliberately taunted the Slytherin to provoke a reaction, any reaction, out of the iceberg that was Olive Hornby. "Hey, Hornby," she had whispered into the girl's ear. They were alone in a corridor, Morgana having slowed down after Potions to ambush Hornby. "Bet you aren't so high and mighty now, are you?"

The only response Olive Hornby showed was a bowing of the head.

The scene had faded away into memory, but it niggled at the back of her head and made her uncomfortable whenever she looked at the Slytherin. And now, Hornby had finally disappeared.

Getting over her shock and guilt, Morgana hardened her heart. _She deserves it!_ She thought fiercely. _She called me a Mudblood and discriminated against muggleborns with all her might. She's not smart or talented or pretty. What's another useless person lost to the unfairness of the world?_

Morgana tapped Fiona on the shoulder and the brunette turned around, surprised. "So, um, what happened with Hornby?" Morgana asked. Fiona looked surprised at the sudden interest in Olive Hornby's leaving, but pleasantly so.

"Well," she started up. "Apparently, she got a letter this morning from her parents. Her marriage contract with Lestrange was _terminated_."

Her guilty conscience increased and her stomach flipped over in shame. She knew that any woman with a terminated marriage contract was doomed to live in solitude for the rest of her days, according to pureblood etiquette.

"Yeah, I know," Fiona nodded at the expression on Morgana's face. "I was shocked as well. But, what's worse is that soon afterwards, her parents came to Hogwarts to pick her up. _In person_."

"What did her parents look like?" Morgana asked out of curiosity. Fiona shrugged. "They weren't much to look at themselves. I remember that they had generic pureblood aristocratic features and the same tailored robes that other purebloods wear, but apart from that they blend into the crowd pretty well."

She went on to describe how Olive Hornby's parents had dragged the girl out of the hall by her hair and no one had seen her since. Morgana listened with rapt attention and thought carefully before asking. "What about Lestrange?"

Fiona snorted. "Heartless as usual. He didn't even bat an eye when she was dragged out – he only smirked and went back to the morning paper. It was like he _knew_ it was going to happen and was just there for the entertainment." Morgana snorted. Sounded just like typical Lestrange behaviour.

The pair sat there in silence for a while as Morgana contemplated exactly what her actions had done. She searched the table of green and silver and caught Tom's eye. He raised an inquiring eyebrow and her eyes flickered towards the empty seat that used to be Olive Hornby's. Tom shrugged at her and smirked. His entire demeanor seemed casual and uncaring, clearly communicating to Morgana that he wasn't exactly worried about the whole fiasco.

"So, what are you doing for the Hogsmeade trip?" Fiona broke the silence and startled Morgana out of her thoughts.

"There's a Hogsmeade trip?"

Her friend rolled her eyes. "Where have you been, living under a rock? Dippet announced that we were having a trip a few weeks ago and the whole school's been in a tizzy. Everyone thought he'd ban the visits, seeing as it's the peak of the Grindelwald war, but apparently not… are you alright?"

Fiona looked at her with concerned eyes. Morgana realized that she had jumped when she heard the name Grindelwald and was now deathly pale. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she waved it off. She had almost forgotten about Grindelwald and her years as a prisoner. The brunette studied her with a worried air and Morgana realized that she hadn't told anyone (apart from Tom) about where she had stayed for almost 5 years.

"So… Hogsmeade, huh?" Morgana said with fake enthusiasm. If Fiona noticed the topic change she didn't mention it. "Yeah, what do you want to do? I've heard that there's a new store open – it's called Zonko's and it's a joke shop, apparently. Of course, we've got to go to the Three Broomsticks – unless you're hanging out with the Slytherins again?"

Morgana frowned.

"The Slytherins? What do you mean? I don't hang out with them."

Fiona snorted. "Of course you do. You spend at least half a day with people in green-and-silver every morning. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she added hastily. Morgana blinked, surprised. She hadn't realized how much time she actually spent with Tom and had left Fiona all alone.

"Oh, sorry Fiona," Morgana quickly apologized, feeling even worse. "I didn't realize…" Her friend smiled good-naturedly, waving off the apology."It's alright – but you're coming with me to Hogsmeade," she said in a tone Morgana couldn't disagree with.

* * *

The morning was fresh and bright. Birds chirped as the last remains of winter melted away under the sunlight streaming through the trees lining the path to Hogsmeade. Morgana and Fiona shared a carriage with a couple of fourth year Hufflepuffs, who were glad to have extra company. The four of them chatted amiably until the Thestrals shuddered to a halt.

The pair of girls spilled out of the carriage eagerly, drinking in the sights of Hogsmeade. Although Morgana had been there before, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at how… _magical_ the village was. Fiona dragged her around each shop, enthusiastically talking about how good each store was. She couldn't help but get caught up her friend's zealousness and smiled.

Finally, after running around Hogsmeade for an hour, the two stumbled into the Three Broomsticks, giggling a bunch of first years. Morgana sat down, laughing, and the bartender went over to them, smiling as a result of their infectious laughter. "So, girls, what'll be today?"

The bar was extremely loud and noisy. Morgana leaned forwards and craned her neck. "Sorry, what was that?" she asked loudly.

A hand landed on her shoulder. "She asked what she'll be serving today," a voice purred. The bartender gasped and Fiona scrambled backwards. Morgana spun around to see a familiar scarred face leering down at her. "As for me," the man continued, "I know exactly what _I'll _be serving up." He leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"Your head on a platter. Reckon Grindelwald will enjoy it?"

Morgana drew a breath as she realized she had seen the man's ugly scarred face almost two years ago. She had been running away, and along the way she had had to hide from Scarface and Potato Nose, the Dark Lord's henchmen… Did that mean Grindelwald himself was here too?

The whole bar fell silent as the door burst open and Potato Nose strode in, wand held high in one hand and a crying little girl in the other. The bartender let out a sob. "Rosie! Let go of her!" Potato Nose smirked. "Don't move, or the little girl gets it. Everyone on the ground, now!"

At the man's roar, all the students ducked under tables and chairs, desperate to avoid the wrong end of the stick. Behind her, Scarface growled and forced Fiona and Morgana to the ground. Her friend squeaked and Morgana grit her teeth as Potato Nose laughed cruelly. "Good. Now take out your wands and throw 'em here."

As trembling hands clasped their wands and moved to give their only hope away, she saw her chance. A barrage of sticks flew towards Grindelwald's lackey, and Morgana grabbed her wand, leapt to her feet and struck the first curse she could think of towards Potato Nose.

"Crucio!"

The man leapt out of the way as many in the bar screamed in horror. Morgana chanced a glance at Fiona and instantly regretted it – the look of betrayal and terror on the brunette's face was painful, to say the least. Although Fiona had originally been nothing but a companion, she had grown on Morgana until she became a friend.

That moment of hesitation was enough for Potato Nose and Scarface to act. The two drew their wands and started firing curses everywhere. The bar was lit up with purple, red and green as spells hit and missed their targets. Morgana didn't have time to think; she fought back with just as much ferocity, slashing and cutting her way towards the two soldiers. She didn't even realize she was using Unforgivables until the limp body of Potato Nose was being crushed beneath her boots.

Scarface snarled at her, brandishing his wand, a wild animal armed with a dangerous weapon. Despite his dead partner, he did not falter in his constant barrage of spells. "Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus! Baubillious!" The man screamed at her, and Morgana was forced to leap out of the way. She fired back, hollering at the top of her lungs.

"Crucio! Avada Kedavra! Confringo!" No one cared that she was using Dark curses anymore – the bar was chaotic and every one of the students, no matter how young, understood that this was a life-or-death situation. As the door was blocked by Scarface, people were scrambling out through the windows or cowering behind overturned tables. Only a few remained behind to fight.

Morgana did not stop hurling curses at Scarface, but she had to admit she was fighting a losing battle. He had at least 20 years of experience on her and she didn't know half the curses he was shooting at her. The man slowly advanced, sneering as Morgana felt her leg bump into the wall. She had been cornered!

Scarface raised his wand and pressed it into the hollow of her throat. He opened his mouth and for half a second, she had the thought that he might start a monologue. Of course, Scarface didn't bother with niceties – he simply cut to the chase. "Avada Kedav-"

"Expelliarmus!"

Fiona's voice drifted over to Morgana as if she was in a dream. Scarface's wand slipped out of his grasp and into her friend's waiting hand. As the enraged man charged toward Fiona like a raging bull, Morgana regained her senses and fired off three curses in succession. "Stupefy! Duro! Avada Kedavra!"

Scarface was blasted away from Fiona, turned into stone and finally killed by a jet of green light. Fiona moved to get to Morgana, but she shook her head firmly and nodded towards the exit. The pair of them moved quickly and silently towards the exit of the now empty bar. The sight that greeted them outside was chaos. Stores were on fire and statues had been decimated. Students were scrambling around the ruins of Hogsmeade like mice, scattered everywhere and desperate to get back to Hogwarts. In the midst of all the mayhem and confusion stood a tall, smiling, blond man.

Grindelwald.

He turned and spotted Morgana right away. A sinister smile lit up his face and before anyone could react, she was flying through the chaos to him like a rag doll. "Hello, Morgana," he purred. "It's quite _lovely_ to see you again."

As he talked, she noticed a figure sprinting towards them. Fiona! Her brown hair streamed out behind her and her wand arm was outstretched. Morgana sighed in relief, wondering how she had come to depend on Fiona to rescue her. Her friend flicked her wand and a purple jet of light flew towards Grindelwald –

\- who promptly brought up a silver shield and deflected her curse. The Dark Lord sneered in contempt. "Who's this foolish girl? Your friend?" He turned to Fiona, who stopped in terror at his cold gaze. "Did you think you could bring down the greatest Dark Lord of all time, girl? With a simple _Stupefy_?"

Fiona stood there, silent and terrified. Grindelwald sighed impatiently. "Well, this should teach you. _Avada Kedavra_!" He flicked his wand dismissively and a sickly green curse shot out of his wand, almost eagerly.

Morgana could only watch in horror as the Killing Curse found its target, hitting Fiona and blasting her away into a wall. The brunette slumped to the ground, a trickle of blood seeping out of the side of her head, once lively eyes now dull and lifeless.

"No," she croaked out in despair. Behind her, Grindelwald smiled. "You see, Morgana?" he told her patronizingly. "This is what happens to people who defy me. Aren't you glad that I haven't killed you?"

Morgana almost started tearing up, but she blinked back the tears and forced a hard gleam into her blue eyes. Grindelwald smiled. "Nothing to say?" She glared at him, wishing she could kill him with her gaze alone.

"Why do you keep coming after _me_?" she asked coldly. "I'm nothing to you, just an escaped prisoner. Why me?"

Grindelwald's lips twitched as if he knew something she didn't. "Well, it's a long story, _my dear_," he said mockingly. Morgana's face stayed blank and expressionless. "I have time," she replied. He laughed.

"Our story begins before you were born. There once was a Muggle boy called John Greene. Little did he know, he was the descendent of an extinct pureblood line. His grandmother was a squib who had blood reaching back to the Dark Ages.

"Now, back then, Parseltongue was a common trait in dark wizards. John Greene's ancestors were Parselmouths, but when the witch hunts came along most of them were killed." Grindelwald smirked at her surprised expression. "Yes, Parselmouths were common, but Muggles killed almost all of them."

Morgana could tell where this story was going.

"John Greene grew up to be a tramp. He was homeless and poor, until he found another Muggle woman. This woman was rich but naïve, and soon Greene had her under his thumb. He convinced her that they were in love, but on the night she was prepared to run away with him he stole all her possessions and left her in the middle of nowhere.

"The woman, left poor and destitute, had no choice but to go back to her parents and confess. They were furious, of course, but their anger was nothing compared to the fear she felt when she found that she was pregnant."

Morgana swallowed the lump in her throat. Without a doubt, Grindelwald was talking about her parents. "So my… father was a descendant of a squib line. So what?"

The cruel man had the nerve to pat her head and smile. "This extinct pureblood line was one of the most powerful lines in the Dark Ages. I've done my research, my dear, and it seems that you have inherited traits thought extinct."

"If you think I'll help you, you are sorely mistaken," Morgana bit out. "You just murdered my friend and ruined my childhood. Why would I be on your side?" Grindelwald simply smiled infuriatingly. "Do you know about the Muggle World War going on right now?"

She clenched her jaw. "Yes."

"Then you'll know about the Nazi medical experiments," he continued. She froze. She had heard horror stories of human experimentation in concentration camps. Once, Mrs. Cole had showed them a picture of a girl who had been rescued from Nazi camps. She had half an arm removed and instead of a foot, a hairy animal limb had been attached. Her face had showed extreme agony.

Was Grindelwald going to do the same to her? Was she going to become just like that lifeless, mutilated girl? _Not if I have anything to say about it_, she thought fiercely.

As Grindelwald shot off yet another green Killing Curse towards the crowd of students, Morgana leapt to her feet and hurled herself at him. She scratched and clawed and cast all the hexes and jinxes in her arsenal. The Dark Lord fought back, punching and constantly casting Unforgivables until they were both on the ground fighting. Grindelwald's magic was incredibly powerful and he had years of experience on her, but Morgana's raw magic made up for that.

In the end, they had tied with wands digging into each other's necks. Both were heavily bleeding and snarling like wild animals, but Grindelwald didn't hesitate. "_Avada –_"

"Let go of her, Gellert!" A familiar voice boomed over the village plaza, and Grindelwald nearly dropped his wand in surprise. Morgana turned her head to see what had caused the mighty Dark Lord to falter and almost gasped when she recognized the long red beard.

Dumbledore.

**If this doesn't get reviews, I don't know what will. Please don't kill me. :)**


	32. The Darker Side

**Disclaimer. I own nothing. I regret nothing.**

**Merry Christmas, everyone! Enjoy this chapter, where unanswered questions are finally answered and where Morgana's darker side comes out into play.**

"Let go of her, Gellert." Dumbledore spoke out in a commanding, booming voice, as if he was ordering the Dark Lord around. Morgana was befuddled at the familiar tone Dumbledore was using, before suddenly remembering the conversation with Bathilda Bagshot. Had the two men really been lovers? It seemed so unbelievable when she thought about it, but looking at the Dark Lord and her Professor she could almost detect a hint of fondness or familiarity in their eyes.

Grindelwald hesitated for a split second, before snarling and snapping his wand. With a burst of blue light, Morgana was tossed away from him and flung into a statue, where she slid to the ground, bleeding heavily. When she turned her head, she saw Grindelwald crouch down then spring up into the air, wand at the ready and prepared to slaughter Dumbledore where he stood.

For a moment, Morgana thought that the Professor would be struck down immediately. Comparing the Dark Lord's strong body and murderous mindset to Dumbledore's grandfatherly looks, it seemed crystal clear as to who would win this duel. However, as Grindelwald twisted through the air like a deadly hurricane, the eccentric teacher slid to the side and snapped his wand up to meet his opponent. He moved as fast as lightening – in the blink of an eye, Dumbledore had leaped behind Grindelwald, the usual twinkle in his eyes gone and a stern frown lining his forehead.

And thus began the most epic, most memorable duel of the century.

Morgana watched blearily as jets of light flew around the air and dangerous curses exploded against the ruins of Hogsmeade. Grindelwald cast powerful curses and had no qualms against murder – in fact, he dished out Killing Curses like candy to kids – but Dumbledore had wicked fast reflexes and, to be honest, his constant calm facade was frustrating. The two fought with such ferocity and such speed that it seemed as if they were dancing to a battle hymn.

Behind the two fiercely dueling men, Morgana struggled to get to her feet. She touched the side of her neck and her fingers came away wet and glistening with red. Her back ached from being smashed against the statue, but she grabbed the nearest thing to her – the arm of the stone angel she had been thrown against – and hauled herself up. Thankfully, her ankle had only been sprained and not snapped, so although it hurt Morgana continued to limp away quietly.

She avoided Grindelwald and Dumbledore completely, not wanting to get hit by a stray curse. Instead, she headed over a wall with blood splattered all over it and a limp body lying at the base. Morgana knelt down carefully and gently turned the body on its back, her throat closing up when she saw the bloody and bruised face of her best face. Fiona's hair was now a reddish brown and her eyes were wide and unseeing. Drying blood was caked on the side of her neck, and her wand arm was bent at an abnormal angle.

"Fiona," Morgana whispered. "Wake up." Her friend did not stir.

"Wake up, please..." Fiona's hand remained limp in her grasp as Morgana clutched it tightly. "You can't die now, please! Wake up!"

Fiona remained as still as a statue and even now her lips were turning blue. "Wake up!" Morgana howled desperately. "Wake up, dammit! You can't leave me like this! I won't let you!" Her friend did not respond, and when the first tear dropped from her eye Morgana wiped her cheek furiously.

"Fiona…" she whispered, tenderly brushing Fiona's hair away from her face and closing her eyes. Morgana folded her hands on top of each other until her friend's corpse finally looked peaceful, so unlike the rage Morgana was feeling inside. "Grindelwald…." She hissed in anger. "Grindelwald did this to you, Fiona. He killed you, robbed you of a good life…" She clenched a fist and her eyes grew bright with bloodlust and determination.

"And I will make him pay."

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald was having the time of his life. He laughed merrily as his old lover, Albus, tossed a weak curse at him. "Really, Albus? A jelly-legs jinx is about the best you can do? My," he commented, whipping out a colorful array of hexes, "how the mighty have fallen." He skidded out of the way as one of Dumbledore's hexes finally took a dangerous turn. The purple jet of light exploded against the ground behind him, blowing a pipe and causing water to burst into the air.

Albus didn't even flinch as a sickly green curse flew towards him, instead erecting two large, stone golems to block the Unforgivable. The two men continued their incredible duel, shooting curses at each other. For a while, Dumbledore held his ground, but slowly and surely Grindelwald drove him backwards. He laughed again in exhilaration as he gained the upper hand. "Avada Kedavra!" he cackled madly, the powerful green bolt of light shooting towards Dumbledore.

"Just a few last words I'd like to pop in," Grindelwald continued as Dumbledore ducked under the Killing curse and backed into a wall. He shot a crippling blow towards Albus' frail legs and they crumpled beneath the red beard, stunned. Grindelwald leaned in, close enough to see the hopelessness flood those familiar blue eyes. He grinned a shark like smile.

"Do you remember what happened all those years ago? Do you remember Ariana? Do you remember _your sister_, Albus?" The professor's face contorted in pain and Grindelwald dug his wand, the elder wand, into the man's throat.

"Do you know who killed her? You or me?"

Albus tensed as he leaned in to whisper into his ear. Gellert took his sweet time setting the mood, eagerly anticipating his next words. "You accused the wrong person, you fool," he whispered gleefully, just to watch the horror show on his childhood friend's face. "It was you. It was always you, never a doubt in anyone's mind. You are the one to struck the final blow. You, Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light and esteemed professor, you are the one who killed your sister."

His voice cracked in the middle of his mini-monologue, but he laughed in joy at the distress and regret showing on his opponent's face. Grindelwald had kept this tidbit to himself throughout all these years, just to tell Albus in his final moments and enjoy the maelstrom of emotions that would leave the Professor emotionally crippled for the rest of his life.

As Grindelwald prepared to cast the final blow, however, a blur shot out from behind him and knocked him over. Rage filled him – who dared to knock over the Dark Lord – and he turned the end of his wand to meet a vengeful Morgana Greene. He reared back in brief shock at the anger and bloodlust in her eyes as she howled at him. It was a inhumane sound, filled with pain and promises of revenge, the sound of a animal who had been cornered and had no other choice.

Small but powerful hands clawed at him, scratching at his face and mauling his cheek, drawing blood. "You dare!" he screamed, aiming his wand at the witch's chest, but before he could cast a single spell his wand, the Elder wand, was snatched out of his grasp. The murderous Morgana Greene clutched his wand in her bone white hands and, before anyone could cry out, she bent the wand with all her strength. The elder wood yielded to her strength and the wand snapped with a loud _crack_.

A jolt of electricity ran up Morgana's spine and seemed to flow into her own Basilisk wand. It grew hot in her pocket, filling up with power, as she threw the remains of the original Elder wand to the ground and crushed it into splinters of wood. Dumbledore stared at her in shock, still lying there on the ground, and this time it was Grindelwald who gave a howl of dismay.

"You stupid child!" he screamed. "That was more powerful than anything you've anything you could possibly imagine – the most priceless artifact – you just destroyed it! You have no idea what you've done!" The Dark Lord leapt at her in a rage, his hands reaching for her throat, but Morgana drew her wand and blasted the body flying at her away. She stared at him with cold, ruthless eyes, the wood thrumming beneath her fingers, full of power.

"You killed Fiona," she spoke in a monotonous voice. "And I will make you pay."

She flew into a tornado of rage, spitting out curses and hexes in a continuous stream towards the wandless Grindelwald, her anger and sorrow fueling her desire for revenge. As she cast dozens upon dozens of curses, both light and dark, Morgana could only think of Fiona's unseeing eyes and her thirst for vengeance. Grindelwald, on the other hand, could only throw up a temporary shield using his exceptional wandless skill. However, his weak Protego stood no chance against the onslaught of spells spewing from Morgana's wand.

The yellow shield shattered and her strong curses struck Grindelwald immediately, attacking him and blowing his defense to pieces. Morgana wove her way through the rubble around them towards the fallen Dark Lord, who was bleeding severely and covered in all manner of nasty things. She clenched her wand and gave a victorious yell, but despite having Grindelwald lying at her feet, defeated, she could not quench her desire for bloodlust. She stared down at the twitching body of Grindelwald with no compassion or mercy, and carefully placed the heel of her shoe on his face, pressing his head to the ground.

"Morgana, please –" A pitiful cry was all that the Dark Lord could say before she stomped down. Hard. Blood flowed fast and quick from his broken nose and he wailed in pain. Morgana hissed in glee, but her rage did not abate. Flicking out her wand, she stepped back and continued her onslaught of curses and hexes. Grindelwald's body was tossed about in the air like a rag doll, as her powerful wand cut into his flesh deeply and healed him and then injured him once more, in a vicious cycle of torture.

Again and again, she broke every bone in his body and made him feel delirious with pain, until all that was left of the Dark Lord was a limp body with a crushed soul inside. Finally, as the red faded from her vision, Morgana stowed her wand away and strode over to Grindelwald's broken and bruised body that lay at her feet. She glared at him with hatred.

"This is for my childhood," she told him, and swiftly kicked him in the face. He gasped as blood began flowing freely once more, pouring onto the ground.

"This is for all the people you have murdered." She crushed his hand beneath her foot and he howled in agony.

"This is for all the families you have broken." She delivered a strong punch to the gut and he curled up in pain.

"This… this is for Fiona." She kicked him once more between the legs. Grindelwald screamed in pain and he lay panting on the floor as Morgana stepped forwards, even closer, all the while observing him coolly.

Suddenly, she grasped his throat and squeezed. He choked. "You know," she spoke, detached, "You could call me Justice. You could call me Karma."

Morgana tightened her grip around his neck and he flailed around. "But you know me," she continued. Grindelwald gargled in pain as the blood ran down his throat.

"I'm not one to lie to a dying man's face. So you know what you should really call me?"

Her eyes narrowed and he clawed at his throat. "You should really just call me Vengeance."

With that, she reluctantly released her grip upon the Dark Lord's neck, and he fell to ground, losing consciousness as soon as his head hit the floor. She cast a quick Body-binding curse and glanced over his bloody body once more, before turning her back on him and leaving with the power of the Elder Wand stowed in her robe pocket and her best friend's body at her side. The authorities would find him soon enough.

"Don't worry, Fiona," she whispered, almost to herself. "I have avenged you."

Morgana walked all the way back to Hogwarts, a crowd of stunned villagers and a silently shocked, weeping Dumbledore staring at her back as she left.

* * *

For the next week or so, Hogwarts was full of joy. Grindelwald had been captured and his reign of terror had ended! Students could barely stay quiet in class (especially those who had relations or friends who had died in the war) and even the teachers seemed particularly happy. Professor Merrythought even let her third year class off without homework – something that had never happened before in the history of Hogwarts.

Everyone was happy, except for a lonely Ravenclaw fifth-year.

Morgana lay back on the bedspread, staring blankly at the ceiling and trying to ignore the empty bed beside her. In her mind, she kept replaying the events at the Duel of Hogsmeade. She could remember every detail of how Fiona had been tossed through the air and smashed into the wall, and how lifeless and hopeless her friend had looked when dead. She wondered, not for the first time, if she would have been able to stop it in any way. If she had maybe moved a little faster? Or perhaps waited a little longer inside the Three Broomsticks? Would Fiona still be next to her, laughing, if she had?

A knock sounded on the dorm door and she sighed. "I'm fine, Megan," she called out monotonously. The petite girl had been trying to get her to come out of the room for three days, but to no avail. However, the door opened anyway and it was not Megan Brocklehurst who stepped inside, but Tom Riddle.

Morgana was silently stunned for a second, having forgotten all about Tom in her grief for Fiona. She also felt very confused as to her feelings toward him. Was Tom a friend? Something more? Or just something in between? She wouldn't describe their relationship as a simple _friendship_, but she wouldn't call it _love_ either. Tom didn't do love or romance, and frankly she didn't either. However, she knew that they would both go to the ends of the world for each other if they had to.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by Tom's stern voice. "You are clearly _not_ fine," he told her firmly. "I am," she insisted stubbornly, but he ignored her and came closer.

"Have you been _crying_?" he asked incredulously, and Morgana touched a fingertip to her cheek to find that it was, indeed, wet. She hurriedly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "No," she protested weakly. Tom sighed and flicked the teardrops off her face with his abnormally long fingers. "Don't lie to me," he said. "You know it doesn't work. This is about the Boot girl, isn't it?"

Morgana frowned and hid her trembling lips behind her crossed arms. "What do you think?" she asked bitterly. Tom sat on the bed opposite and surveyed her with expressionless eyes. "You want to know what I really think?" And before she could reply, he started his long rant.

"I think you're being _pathetic_. Okay, so a friend of yours died. So what? She's dead, she's gone, and she's not coming back. She wasn't exactly brilliant at anything, just another insignificant person caught up the flow, so her death hasn't exactly changed history. Yes, the girl – Fiona Boot, was it? – she was murdered and killed before her time. That, I can understand. But what I don't understand is why you're sitting _in your room_, _crying like little brat_, when you could be doing so much more with your life. You've been in this stupid dorm for three days, Morgana, sobbing out your heart for something that's already happened."

Morgana stared up at Tom, shocked. "Fiona was a friend!" she yelled, and Tom narrowed his eyes. "Irrelevant. As far as I know, friends don't make others cry or wail," he replied, and she sagged. "But –" "But nothing," he snapped. "Look at you, so defeated and hopeless. Pathetic. Grindelwald is dead, Morgana, and from what I've heard you played a major part in his defeat."

Was that her imagination, or did she just see a glint of approval in his eyes? "Fiona –" she started, and Tom sighed in exasperation. "Merlin's beard, Morgana, Fiona Boot is dead. Get over it and stop looking like a puppet with their strings cut. Now get on your feet and stop crying. Your tears are dripping everywhere – it's disgusting."

"I practically tortured the man, though," Morgana blurted out. She didn't regret defeating Grindelwald, but she had exposed a cruel side of her that she didn't know she had. Tom raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I care? Frankly, it's nice to see you let out your dark side. I haven't seen it in a while…"

She blinked owlishly. "What? I've never…" Tom snorted. "Of course you have. In the orphanage, when you were nine, you told me about how you had burned down your previous orphanage. You burnt a little boy alive, Morgana, and you were only about six or seven." She tensed. "I don't remember that…"

Tom shrugged. "You were so guilty about it that I decided to just erase your memories of it." Morgana froze in shock. "You WHAT?!" He looked at her, unrepentant. "You were a huge mess about it, very much like how you are now. Beating yourself up for something you didn't really have control over – you were practically begging for me to Obliviate you."

"So I've killed someone before?" she asked tentatively. "Your hands were dirtied a long time ago, Morgana," Tom sighed. "Time to get over it. You said that you didn't mean to kill him anyway." She stared at him, the information stewing in her mind and not quite processing. _She had killed someone before… but only accidently… _

With that shocking revelation, Tom abruptly got up from his seat and walked out of the room. "Clean up, and if I don't see you in the Great Hall for dinner I will gut you."

Morgana let a strangled laugh out of her throat. _Just like Tom to threaten someone to cheer them up_. She staggered up from the bedspread and wandered into the bathroom, splashing water on her face and observing the sad, pathetic expression on her face melt away. "He's right, I really do look terrible," she said out loud. She breathed in a deep gulp of air, mourning her dead friend one last time, before resolving to move on.

Grindelwald was dead, and so was Fiona, but at least her death had served a purpose. Tom was right, no matter how bluntly he had put it. She had to stop grieving and keep going in life. Her hands had already been dirtied with the blood of another – no point in worrying about it now. Morgana cleaned herself up, changing and washing all the tear tracks away, before going down into the Great Hall to join the celebrations.

**I hope you enjoyed that. Morgana is slightly evil, yes, but she is also good... besides, the lines between dark and light tend to blur into grey anyway. **

**Meanwhile... this is coming to an end, but there will be one final story arc to go before I ****finish. I've also been working on a new story, with way longer chapters and a far darker (female) character. I need name suggestions, please!**

**UPDATE: For all of those who have been reading this, there's a little Christmas gift waiting for you... Check out my other story "What Could Have Been"!**


	33. Immortals

**VICTORY FOR THE LIGHT: GRINDELWALD SENTENCED TO LIFE LONG PRISON**

_In a shocking turn of events yesterday afternoon, Grindelwald was captured and defeated in a duel with Albus Dumbledore, and is now jailed in Nurmenguard Prison for life._

_According to witnesses who were at Hogsmeade at the time, Hogwarts students were on an annual trip to the Wizarding village when Grindelwald launched a surprise attack. The Dark forces surrounded the village and closed in on a popular pub (The Three Broomsticks) where many students go during their trips. Thankfully, due to the effort of Hogsmeade staff and Ministry authorities most children were evacuated from the village and sent back to Hogwarts. Sadly, three students died in an attempt to escape._

_After students were evacuated, Grindelwald and Dumbledore proceeded to duel for almost an hour. The village was partly destroyed by their incredible duel and Dumbledore finally managed to beat Grindelwald. The Headmaster of Hogwarts then bound the Dark Lord securely and delivered him to the authorities._

_"__The fact that Grindelwald attacked school children shows how much of a monster he is," said a Ministry spokesperson in an interview with the _Daily Prophet_. "However, we have apprehended him and sentenced him to a life-long stint in prison. We are all grateful to the Ministry and the Headmaster of Hogwarts for their assistance."_

_However, dear readers, we have uncovered a startling fact – although Dumbledore did duel Grindelwald, many witnesses also recall a student being at the scene as well. According to several villager, "the girl was really powerful" and when Grindelwald seemed to have triumphed in the duel against Dumbledore she stepped in and "totally destroyed him". If this is true, then what exactly is Dumbledore/the Ministry playing at? Who was this mysterious student who saved the day?_

_Keep reading for more news._

Cygnus Lestrange snarled, drawing a startled look from Abraxas Malfoy and several scared faces. "Damn it," he hissed under his breath. "Damn it!"

The blond heir next to him raised an eyebrow. "Cygnus?" He ignored Malfoy as he rose from the table and strode out of the Great Hall, abandoning his breakfast. Quickening his pace, he practically ran to the Slytherin dorms and when he reached his room he immediately shut the door. "DAMN IT!" he cursed out loud, enraged, and let out a string of profanities that would make a seasoned sailor blush.

"Pardon your language," a smooth voice said behind him, and Cygnus whipped around to find himself staring into amused green eyes.

"Tom." His voice was strangled. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Clearly not," the Heir of Slytherin drawled. "And, pardon me for being blunt, what exactly are you swearing so strongly about?" Cygnus tensed – he could not answer truthfully or Tom would kill him without hesitation.

"Simply family matters, nothing too serious," he answered. Tom did not seem to believe him – of course he wouldn't, it was a poor lie even by his own standards – but left him alone. "If you say so, Cygnus," Tom said, and turned to leave the dorm room. "Inform the others that I will not be available for tonight's meeting, so it is cancelled."

"Again?" Cygnus blurted out, and immediately shut his mouth when Tom turned around slowly. He knew that he had said something wrong when the other boy looked at him with that penetrating gaze. "Do you have a problem with that, Cygnus?" his Lord asked, voice soft and dangerous.

"No," he said hastily. "Of course not. If you don't mind me asking, though," – oh god, he should shut up now but he couldn't – "where will you be tonight?" Cygnus bit his tongue as the words rushed out of his mouth, prepared to be punished by his powerful Master, but to his surprise Tom did not raise his wand.

"I will be having an important meeting with an acquaintance of mine," was all Tom said. "Do not disturb me during that time." Cygnus nodded, bobbing his head like a metronome, as the other Slytherin left the dorms. Inside, he was enraged – of course his Lord would waste more of his time on that pathetic Mudblood Greene.

He couldn't understand why Tom bothered to lower himself to the standards of the Ravenclaw. Tom was brilliant, prodigious, the epitome of Slytherin, whereas Greene was relatively unknown, had dirty blood and wasn't even in the House of Snakes. Why could a lowly muggleborn draw Tom's attention so easily, while he could only pray for a glance to be sent his way at least once a week?

It was infuriating to watch Tom and Greene interact with such familiarity, especially as it had taken him four years to worm his way up through the Slytherin ranks just to get next to the Slytherin King. Tom had been devoted to expanding his little empire until the stupid girl came along. Now his Lord spent most of his time with Morgana Greene.

True, it wasn't as if Tom's empire was crumbling to pieces. In fact, his Lord was now more focused than ever and reaching out to other Houses for recruitment. However, it galled Cygnus to see him with Greene. Every time she smiled at him, it was as if she was taunting him, telling him he was unworthy of Tom's attention. It made his blood rise, as well as something other emotion he recognized from Hornby's constant tantrums but refused to admit.

It was jealousy. Jealousy that the person he was loyal to and served and was prepared to devote his life to, would simply ignore him in favor of some other person who had only been here for a year. Cygnus had joined Grindelwald when the rage and envy became too much to bear, but despite his best efforts the thrill of being a part of war had only satisfied him for a little while.

Now that Grindelwald was practically dead and the Dark forces had surrendered, Cygnus was left feeling lost and bitter. One master had fallen and the other was currently ignoring him.

He had to do something.

* * *

Morgana stared at the book in front of her, her gaze flickering from time to time to the couch where Tom was sitting. It was late after dinner and the two were in the Room of Requirement, experimenting with the Deathly Hallows. Tom was still skeptical about the whole 'immortality' thing but he decided that it was worth giving a go.

"We still don't have all three objects, though," Morgana moaned. She had long since given up on playing with the invisibility cloak and had handed it over to Tom. "According to every text I've read, we need to combine the Invisibility Cloak, the Elder Wand _and_ the Resurrection Stone – which we don't have. We don't even know where the hell the Stone might be. This is an impossible task!"

Tom waited patiently for her to finish her rant. "Are you finished stating the obvious?" he drawled. She flushed. "Well, it's true! We know nothing –"

"…and whining won't help," Tom said calmly, examining the Elder Wand for what seemed to be the thousandth time. "We'll figure it out eventually. For now, let's narrow down our goals and focus on how the magic of this all works. The ritual, of course, will need all three objects and a burst of power –"

"A burst of power? Why?" she asked. He looked at her as if she was an idiot. "All types of magic need a catalyst of power, whether it be blood or soul or magical intent. You know this already, Morgana."

They had scrutinized each object carefully and, over the span of three months, they had found small runes sewn into the Invisibility Cloak. Yesterday, when Morgana had used her own wand she found the same runes carved upon the wood.

Tom had been _very_ interested. "You said you snapped the Elder Wand?" he asked, for the millionth time. "I told you, I wasn't thinking straight!" she protested, but he raised a finger in a shushing motion. "The wand broke, but… did you feel anything when you snapped it? Perhaps a rush of magic sweeping through your body?"

Morgana had nodded affirmatively and he had grinned in triumph. "Excellent! This means that, although the original Elder Wand is broken, the power seems to have been transferred to your own wand. The runes match and the strength of the wand is incredible…" Tom had given her wand an envious look and she had hastily taken it back. "Don't you dare snap my wand," she warned him.

He had just given her an innocent look, as if to say _who, me_?

Tom now studied the wand and the cloak carefully with a borrowed Runes book next to him. "It's very strange," he murmured. "The pattern of the runes don't make sense at all, and some of them don't even exist."

Morgana looked over at him. Runes was not her forte, but figuring things out was. "Maybe you're looking at things wrong?" she suggested. "Try turning them around or something."

"Or something," Tom said sarcastically. "You don't turn runes around. That would be incredibly stupid."

Morgana sulked. "It was worth a try," she muttered and stared at the book of fairytales in front of her. The curly script was tiny and the page full of words spun before her eyes. On the next page, there was a beautiful illustration depicting Death meeting the Three Brothers. Death was wearing a long, dark cloak that hooded his face, and his skeletal hand was outstretched with the Elder Wand in his hand. Opposite the eerie figure was a man holding his palms outwards with a small stone resting in his hands, the Resurrection Stone.

She sighed and flipped the page to read through the page again.

For the next hour, the pair worked continuously and in silence, with Morgana wrinkling the corners of the pages and Tom toying with the ring on his finger. They kept at it until the large clock the Room had summoned chimed midnight.

Morgana looked up, startled. Had they really spent five hours researching?

Tom got up immediately and began to pack up. "Come on, we'd best get back to our common rooms," he said. She shook her head. "You go ahead, I'll stay here awhile longer."

He gave her a doubtful look, dithering between leaving her in the room and ordering her to go back. Finally, he just shrugged and left her alone in the room. "Don't stay up too late," he said, and she almost laughed at how _motherly_ his words were.

"Yes sir!" she answered sarcastically, and he rolled his eyes at her before shutting the door. Morgana sighed and returned her attention to the book…

…she opened her eyes and found herself staring at the ceiling. She found herself lying on her side on the warm rug in the Room of Requirement, with the small book of fairytales discarded to the right.

In a panic, she sat up, bending her back with an audible crack, and looked at the clock. To her relief it was still quite early in the morning – there were still three hours until the sun would rise. Morgana stumbled to her feet, her body sore all over, but when she staggered forwards blearily a sharp pain pierced her foot.

"What the…"

She bent down and picked up a ring. It was gaudy and ostentatious, with a gold band and a heavy black stone set in the middle. Turning it over in her hands, she inspected the ring from all sides and realized that it was Tom's ring.

_He must have dropped it by accident when he was here_, she thought and vowed to return it to him in the morning. However, when she looked closer and brushed her fingers against the large onyx crystal she nearly cried out in shock. Carved into the black stone was a familiar symbol, depicting a circle inside a triangle with a straight line in the middle.

The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was branded deeply into the ring's gemstone, and when she clenched the ring tightly in her fist the stone seemed to glow with a powerful warmth. Hardly daring to believe her eyes, Morgana checked the image in the book. Sure enough, the Brother was holding a large black stone in his hand, similar to the one resting in her palm right now.

She sat down in disbelief. They were in possession of all three Deathly Hallows, something that many others would kill for, including Grindelwald. A choked yet triumphant laugh bubbled past her lips, and before she knew it she was cackling ecstatically like a madwoman.

Morgana gasped for breath, the powerful sense of victory shooting adrenaline into her veins. She couldn't wait to tell Tom. He would be so glad and then they would become immortal together…

In fact, why wait?

She swallowed at the prospect of eternal life. Forever was a long time to live, and Tom would not be happy that she attempted the ritual before him, but the temptation of immortality was too much to bear. Morgana cursed herself for her selfishness, but despite this she retrieved all three items and lay them down in front of her. Now what?

She tried heaping them on top of each other, but nothing happened apart from an increase in power radiating from the objects. The fairytale book offered no more help to her. Morgana tried wearing the cloak and holding the wand and stone in the same pose as the Brother in the illustration, but that did nothing but render her invisible.

She tried to wrap all the objects up with the cloak, but nothing happened. She tried to cast spells using the Elder Wand towards the Resurrection stone and the cloak – all that did was cause the jet of light to bounce off the stone and dent the ceiling. She even tried lining them up according to runes, to no result.

Morgana slumped to the floor, the feeling of triumph seeping out of her. What good would having all the objects do if she couldn't use them properly. She scowled at the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. It had lead them to find all three objects with its careful symbolism, but only to a dead end –

_Hang on_, she thought. The symbol of Deathly Hallows represented all three objects united. The triangle represented the cloak, the circle represented the stone and the line represented the wand… all three objects united…

Morgana grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and spread it out across the floor, in the rough shape of a triangle – the most stable geometric shape in the universe ought to serve as the base. She carefully lay the Resurrection Stone in the very middle of it and balanced the Elder Wand upon the Stone, pointing upwards.

A burst of magical power shook the room to its very foundations, causing Morgana to stumble backwards. Her idea had worked, clearly, but she didn't feel any more immortal than she did before. Her magic told her that the ritual had one last step, but she didn't know what it was.

She growled in frustration. To come this far and to be stopped by a cloak, a stone and a wand – the thought was unbearable. She suddenly wished that Tom was here – the process would have gone a lot faster with his brainpower. Too bad they had been focusing on finding the Resurrection Stone more than the ritual…

Wait a minute. Tom had said something about all rituals needing a catalyst or a source of power to start or finish the magical process. Perhaps a spell might help?

Morgana frowned again when she realized the obvious problem with this. Her wand _was_ the Elder Wand. If she picked it up and cast a spell, it wouldn't work because the pattern of the objects would be disrupted and the runes wouldn't line up properly. She couldn't use wandless magic either – wandless magic only cast a physical affect on objects, like levitation or transfiguration.

Sure, she could touch the wand and cast an incantation, but then she'd also need to move the wand to fit the spell movements, and that would also break the pattern of runes. There was only one spell in the world that could be cast without a specific wand movement, but…

Morgana bit her lip. This spell was very dangerous, but it oddly seemed to fit the theme of the Deathly Hallows. Hesitantly, she decided to take a chance and grasped the wand, careful not to move it too much out of position. Her throat was suddenly very dry. If she messed this up, there would be no second chance.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

The cursed words escaped her lips and a rush of power surged through the Elder Wand. The three objects glowed with an eerie green light as the objects in the Room started rattling and shaking. The wood in her hand thrummed with power and the tip flared neon red, casting unsettling shadows of crimson and green around the room. Morgana gritted her teeth as the wand threatened to slip out of her grasp and clenched her hands tighter.

Still the crimson light grew brighter and brighter, covering up all the green until the whole room was radiating with red light. The wand was jerking around violently now, and the red light seemed to separate from the wand, forming into its own little red ball of energy. Morgana squinted her eyes shut as the sphere shone even brighter and started spinning around at a terrific speed.

Suddenly, the globe of crimson halted to a stop, before shooting towards Morgana. She daren't let go of the Elder Wand and could only gasp in shock when the ball of energy crashed into her chest, right into where her heart was. Her body convulsed with magical power as it absorbed the sphere of magic, and the Elder Wand slipped out of her grasp.

The world faded away into red as she sank to the ground.


	34. Avada Kedavra

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. **

**Sorry for the slightly late update and for the short chapter! Kinda busy this weekend - got a wedding to go to! - but I hope you enjoy this. It's a plot twist. A huge plot twist, so prepare yourselves for uncertainty.**

When she came back to reality, Morgana was extremely confused. She was slumped against the wall, body limp and unresponsive. She could see, yes, but she couldn't move at all. As hard as she commanded her arms and legs to move, her body just felt like sludge and didn't respond at all. In fact, it didn't feel as if her body belonged to her.

It was like an ill-fitting costume. Her skin was just a little _too_ sensitive, and her limbs were just a little _too_ tense. She felt like one of those shedding snakes in the orphanage garden – as if her skin was too big for her.

What had happened? Last she remembered, she had been researching with Tom, and then…

She would have gasped if her mouth was able to move. Was she really immortal now? It must have worked, otherwise she'd be dead from the rebounded Killing Curse. But why couldn't she move?

It was similar to something she had read about before, called magical paralysis. Magical paralysis happened when your body had undergone significant changes as a result of magic. It didn't matter if it was a mental or physical change – in fact, it happened to squibs as well, or even to some Muggles descended from magical families.

Muggles explained it away as a phenomenon they named 'sleep paralysis', claiming that it was to do with nerve signals, but everyone knew that it was really magical paralysis.

However, the strange thing was that magical paralysis should only paralyze you for a few seconds. Morgana had been lying on the floor, frozen, for at least five minutes. She waited a bit longer, but her limbs still refused to react. It seemed as though she would have to battle the paralysis herself, through sheer determination.

She stared at her feet and focused on her big toe, willing it to move. The digit did not budge.

As she glared fiercely at her toe, she thought about Tom. How would he react? She knew he wouldn't be happy with her. In fact, he would spitting mad. She could just imagine him ranting at her, quiet rage fueling a dangerous aura and his bone white wand digging into her jugular. Then he would calm down and demand to know all the details.

Then, he would immediately do it himself, and they would live to the end of time together. Just the two of them. People said that immortality would be lonely, and you would have to watch everyone you love die – but what if the one person she cared for lived forever with her?

There, problem solved.

That was, if she ever got around to moving. She focused her gaze on her big toe and silently groaned. It was going to be a long while…

* * *

Morgana stood up and grinned, a wild feeling of elation shining through her smile. Her clothes were rumpled and her back ached, but despite this she felt brand-new.

She flexed her arms and stretched, marveling at how much more flexible her body was now. With a flick of her wand, she summoned a full length mirror and stepped in front of it.

She was glowing.

Her skin was as pale as alabaster and sparkling, while her hair shone in the faint morning light. Her limbs were longer, stretched like a piece of tight rope. However, the most surprising thing about her appearance was that her eyes had changed.

At first, she didn't notice the subtle difference. Morgana was far too preoccupied with examining her smooth skin – the ritual had worked wonders on her ugly scar and healed it better than the Cicatrix Potion ever had – when she blinked at herself in the mirror. A spark of irritation had itched at the back of her mind and she couldn't figure out exactly what was wrong, until she noticed the absence of the usual flash of blue irises.

Her normal blue eyes were gone. In their place were a foreign pair of crimson orbs. They were a deep, dark red, the hue of the setting sun, and, strangely, they reminded Morgana of Tom's eyes. The scarlet color bled from the edges of her pupils to the outer edge of her eyes, the red chasing away the blue until only the barest hints of cyan remained.

_A small price to pay for immortality_, she concluded, although she admitted that she would miss her original eyes. _At least nothing else major has changed_.

She stood up, still shaky on her newfound strength, and took slow, stumbling steps to the door. _I have to tell Tom_, she thought to herself, and both dreading and anticipating the moment. Morgana opened the door shakily and left the room clutching her wand tightly, just in case.

Her footsteps sounded throughout the corridors, uneven and unsteady and surprising loud in the empty hallways. There was a small fear that lingered in her mind, that if she walked too loudly the secret of immortality would be found along with her – and as irrational as this fear was, Morgana proceeded to make her steps smaller and quieter.

So she shuffled along the corridor, slowly but silently, as she made her way through the castle down to the dungeons. However, as she staggered down the stairs, her vision began flickering at the edges. A red haze started seeping into the corners of her vision, her feet tripped over each other and she hastily caught herself, afraid to make a noise.

Strange voices swam through her head, and she clutched it, trembling. What was happening? This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Mooorgana," a sing-song voice called to her, and she spun around, panicked. The shimmering image of Olive Hornby appeared before her, laughing and taunting. "You're not real," Morgana said strongly, but her voice quavered. "You're just in my head. Get out."

Cackling laughter echoed through her mind. "If I'm in your head," Olive drawled, "who's to say I'm not real?" Shivers ran down her spine as the Slytherin girl giggled. Morgana snarled at her. "You were taken away from Hogwarts. You can't be here."

Olive's attitude changed abruptly. "It's all your fault!" The girl cried. "You ruined my reputation! You ruined my marriage! You ruined my _life_! How heartless are you!"

Morgana stumbled backwards, but before she could speak the image of Olive disappeared, to be replaced by something even worse: Fiona. The brunette appeared before her with limp brown hair, a broken arm and with half of her ribs smashed in. Coupled with the spectre's weak, pitiful moans, it made a grotesque painting.

"I thought you were my friend, Morgana," the image – _not Fiona, not Fiona, Fiona's dead, not her_ – whimpered. "Why did you let me die? You could have stepped him, you could have let me live, why…" The ghastly ghost of her friend let out a wail, and Morgana pressed herself against the wall.

"You're not real. You're not real. You're not real," she muttered to herself, over and over again. The ghostly form in front of her wavered before her eyes, moaning one last time before suddenly vanishing. The last wisps of white disappeared and the red faded from her vision, and Morgana breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been a hallucination. She wondered vaguely if it was a side effect of immortality, and sighed. She should have known that eternal life would have some drawbacks – she just didn't expect _insanity_ to be one of them. Morgana continued on her way down the stairwell, stumbling slightly, off balance.

She reached the end of the staircase and moved to open the door, when, out of the blue, another figure appeared before her. This one had dark hair and a nasty sneer plastered on his face.

It was the one and only Cygnus Lestrange. He was wearing a dark cloak and in his fist lay his wand, ready and pointed right at her. "What are you doing in my mind?" Morgana spat at him. The boy's sneer deepened. "Are you stupid, Mudblood?"

"Get out. You aren't real," she muttered, and tried to walk through him to reach the door. To her surprise, she crashed straight into Lestrange's chest. "What the-" she started, before freezing as cold realization dawned on her.

She could touch Lestrange.

Lestrange was solid.

He was real.

And he was pointing a wand right between her eyes.

"Not real, am I?" The Slytherin smirked, a nasty, smug smile that would make a cat sick. He backed her up against the wand and dug the point of his wand right into her stomach. "Say goodbye, _Mudblood_."

"Wait –" she stuttered.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

* * *

Cygnus Lestrange couldn't help the triumphant smirk that spread across his lips as he swaggered down the empty corridors. Trailing behind him in the air, was the limp body of one Morgana Greene.

That was easier than he thought it'd be, he thought.

Cygnus had waited in the darkness for over three hours, prepared to ambush the Mudblood when she came down for her daily visit. His wand had been at his side the entire time, and when he had seen her silhouette outlined in the flickering torchlight, he had leapt to his feet immediately.

The Lestrange heir had crept up to the oblivious witch, who didn't notice him at all throughout her entire monologue. Cygnus, at first, had worried that someone – a companion – might be with her, but when he saw her he realized that she had been talking to herself, having a one-sided conversation.

_Was the fool mad?_ He had wondered absently. However, being a Slytherin, he had grabbed the opportunity, and done the deed quickly. With a flash of green light, Greene's body had dropped to the ground, and Cygnus Lestrange left the dungeons victorious.

Now, he levitated her figure in the air and brought them out to the back of the castle. Flicking his wand, he unceremoniously dropped her to the mossy dirt, and prepared to dig a hole in the ground. They were at the very border of the Forbidden Forest, in a small clearing halfway into the woods, a place where no one but him knew about – just perfect for a grave.

_Groan_.

Lestrange froze. He couldn't have heard that right. The person behind was gone. Dead. Deceased. Expired. Lifeless. How could the body behind him have echoed –

_"__Uh_…" He turned around, eyes wide, just in time to see Greene's body turn over and curl up, as if she was merely sleeping, not dead. How could this be possible? Cygnus could've sworn that his Avada Kedavra had hit her right in the chest. Morgana Greene could not be alive.

Yet, here she was, moaning in her sleep, clearly breathing and alive. Lestrange gritted his teeth. How was the Mudblood always foiling and evading his plans? She just wouldn't die _peacefully_, would she? Oh, no, she had to come back to life and shock the hell out of him… but it didn't matter _how_ she died, as long as she stayed that way. He reached into his pocket for his last resort, a dire backup plan that he thought he'd never need.

Withdrawing his hand from his robes, he revealed a vial of dark purple potion. He cautiously moved towards Greene's sleeping form with the vial in his hand held well away from him, like a ticking time bomb. And in a way, it was. Inside the vial was a carefully concocted version of the Draught of the Living Dead. Cygnus had spent all of his weekends cooking up this special recipe, for this was no ordinary potion.

The original brewing instructions had been heavily modified, so that the Unicorn blood would amplify the effects of the potion. Instead of having the victim sleep until someone came along with the antidote, this version of the draught would have the victim sleep forever.

Lestrange wasn't sure if the potion would work anymore – apparently, Greene was immortal and immune to Killing Curses. However, it was the only option he had, so he opened the Mudblood's jaw and tilted the vial downwards. He watched as the last few drops of potion dribbled into her mouth, and smiled in relief when her body began shuddering. Thank Merlin for his emergency backup plan.

He stood up, wiping the dirt off his robes, and flicked his wand at the ground. A deep hole, about the length of the person lying below him, appeared. Cygnus unceremoniously kicked Morgana's body into the pit, cackling under his breath as the slumbering figure hit the wet soil with a quiet _splat_.

Flickering his wand once more, the dirt piled up around the freshly dug ground collapsed into the hole, burying Morgana Greene into the earth. Cygnus grinned at the irony – yeah, she was immortal, but what was the point of being immortal if you were asleep and buried six feet under?

He coughed up as much saliva as he could and spat on the small mound of earth. Now, time to tie up loose ends.

* * *

"I'm sorry, my lord," Cygnus groaned out, enjoying and wincing at the pain Tom had given him.

His irate lord glared at him, twirling his yew wand between abnormally long fingers. "This cannot be true. You must have seen wrong, Lestrange," Tom spat.

"No, my lord –"

"Do _not_ lie to me!" The Heir of Slytherin roared. "Morgana Greene is not the kind of person who runs away!"

"I swear, my lord, it's true! I saw it with my own two eyes," Cygnus insisted. "She was sneaking out of the castle with another boy, and she had her trunk with her. What else would she be doing, my lord?"

Tom snarled, and started pacing in the room. Lestrange shivered at the pure rage his lord was radiating and bowed his head even further, partly to hide his terror, but also to hide his smirk. His plan was working without a hitch!

"This cannot be true… Morgana wouldn't…" Tom muttered to himself, agitated. Finally, he straightened up and fixed Cygnus with a dark glare. "We'll see. If Morgana hasn't appeared in a week, I'll believe you. If she does, well… what do you think about having the skin flayed off your back?"

Lestrange sank into a kneeling position. "Yes, my lord," he whispered, but he couldn't help but laugh under his breath as he walked out of the room.

**All these character deaths! Only a few more chapters to go... Read and review!**


	35. The Bleak Future

**Disclaimer: Getting sick of these!**

**No, this story is not finished. Yes, there is still one more story arc to go. My writing style has improved enormously since the first chapter with all your helpful reviews, so thank you! Enjoy!**

He didn't believe Cygnus.

Not even for a second. Tom knew perfectly well that the Lestrange heir hated Morgana with a passion. He'd never thought that the fool would be as audacious as to lie to his face, though. When the mere thought of someone deceiving him touched his mind, rage surged through his veins. But there wasn't a person in Hogwarts who could say that Tom Riddle had no self control.

_You want to play,_ _Lestrange?_ Tom thought darkly. _Then let's play._

So he went along with Cygnus' (transparent) plan, giving the heir a generous amount of time to prove his ridiculous statement. Morgana Greene, run away from Hogwarts? _Please_. As if that would ever happen.

Still, his traitorous minion's confident smile was a tad disconcerting.

The next morning, when there was no sign of his closest companion, Tom turned to a smirking Cygnus at the table and led him to a secluded alcove. "Yes, my lord?" the Lestrange heir asked sweetly.

"You will tell me where Morgana is," Tom stated coldly. His features stayed calm and focused, but his eyes betrayed the fury he felt inside.

Cygnus felt the smile melt from his lips. "I have already told you, my lord," he began. Silently, he thanked his pureblood training as he barely managed to contain his stutter. "Greene is no longer at Hogwarts."

"Do you really think so?" Tom's voice was cold, concise and utterly emotionless. It meant that he was in an especially foul mood. Indeed, his voice could have frozen a waterfall. Any sane person would have run away by now.

But who ever said that Cygnus Lestrange was sane?

"I don't think I understand what you mean," said Cygnus, feigning ignorance. He furrowed his eyebrows together and tilted his head in a show of innocence.

Tom, needless to say, was not amused.

"I think you do, Lestrange," he hissed. "You should know better than to start this foolish game of war with me." Cygnus panted as he felt his back collide with the stone wall behind him. Pale fingers wrapped around his pristine white collar.

Lestrange kept his back straight and his voice even smoother. "I don't know what you mean," he said coolly.

Furious green eyes met terrified brown ones, and he couldn't keep the shiver from running down his spine.

"I see," said Tom slowly, after a long while. He loosened his grip from around Lestrange's collar (he hadn't even noticed his hands moving until Cygnus was backed against the stone wall) and casually stepped back. The Lestrange heir visibly relaxed and his tensed shoulders dropped when his master stepped away.

"Well, Cygnus, it was a pleasant chat but I'm afraid we both have classes now." Tom brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulder and turned away from the shaking Lestrange. Before he left, however, Tom smiled at him. "I hope your new engagement plans are going well, by the way."

The boy recoiled as Tom's smile revealed a little more teeth than necessary.

But as he sat through another dull lesson of Charms, Tom couldn't help thinking about the whole fiasco. He hadn't seen or heard from Morgana since late last night, and Lestrange had seemed unusually confident in his blatant lie.

Morgana wouldn't just up and elope with some random boy, he knew that much. She wasn't that type of girl who'd go for a nobody. However, what else could explain her sudden disappearance?

A funny feeling arose in his chest and gripped him tightly. It was not a feeling that Tom Riddle had ever experienced before – it squeezed its ugly claws around his heart and made him feel hollow and empty inside. Was it sadness? Jealousy?

He couldn't – wouldn't – tell.

White knuckles clutched the quill in his hand tighter. He wouldn't fall for Lestrange's cheap tricks. No doubt he had hidden Morgana away somewhere in the enormous castle. She couldn't be gone. Not again. The traitorous voice in the back of head whispered to him.

_She doesn't care about you,_ it taunted. _Lestrange was right. You're simply refusing to see the truth here._

"Shut up," muttered Tom under his breath.

_You're deluded. Your emotions have clouded your vision. Morgana has run away. After all, she disappeared before. What's to stop her this time?_

The quill between his fingers snapped. Black ink oozed over his hand and dripped onto his parchment. The professor, who was busily chalking incantations on the board, didn't notice the loud crack - but the rest of the class certainly did. Abraxas turned from his seat in the front and gave him a concerned look. So did the rest of the Slytherins.

(Of course, it was all for show. No real Slytherin would show such obvious concern towards someone else.)

Tom calmly wiped the ink off his palm. He slid the sheaf of papers back into his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "Excuse me, professor," he said coolly, and stalked out of the surprised room of students. Lestrange stared after him with an especially puzzled gaze. Tom Riddle had never walked out of a class before, especially not for something as trivial as a dirty hand.

He swept down the corridor, cleaning the ink from his clenched fist with a simple _Scourgify_. What had gotten into him? A week ago, he would've laughed at the mere idea of soiling his own perfect record. The fact that _he_, Tom Riddle, model student and prefect, had walked out of a class, meant that something was deeply, disturbing wrong.

Four weeks had passed since that day, and no one had yet to see hide nor hair of Morgana Greene. Cygnus Lestrange had been questioned relentlessly by Tom almost every week, and each time he had left with a smug yet relieved smirk on his scowling features. This time, however, he was not to be so lucky.

"Where is Morgana?"

The Lestrange heir shrugged. "I've told you again and again, my lord. She has run away –"

"Don't give me that useless excuse again!" roared Tom. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air around them and Cygnus could've sworn the temperature dropped several degrees. His lord's face was a mask of rage and impatience and the need to hurt someone. The first trickles of fear ran down Lestrange's spine.

"You are trying my patience," hissed Tom, after a few calming breaths. "We both know that you've done something to her, and I want to know what."

"I don't know anything!" insisted Cygnus.

Tom paused, and for a split second Cygnus thought that he would let him go. Instead, the Heir of Slytherin leaned in closer and bestowed upon him a superficial smile. "I'm sure, _Cygnus_," purred Tom.

He instinctively leaned away from his lord's overwhelming presence, and the wicked smile on Tom's face widened.

"You know," he spoke conversationally. "In the month that Morgana's been gone, I've been in the library a lot more, especially in the Restricted Section. And in that time- " Green eyes narrowed in anticipation. "-I have read over twenty volumes concerning the Dark Arts."

"Now," continued Tom in obvious glee, "Would you care to take a guess in which branch of the Dark Arts I have been dabbling in?"

Cygnus wriggled in a futile effort to escape, but he felt invisible magical bonds pressing in his sides. When had Tom had time to cast a barrier ward?

"Well?" Tom's voice repeated, and Cygnus realized that he had been waiting for an answer.

"Um." He tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. "I don't know, my lord."

"You don't know?" whispered Tom, anticipation barely concealed. "I shall inform you then. This area of the Arts has particularly captured my interest, as it concerns Torture curses."

Cygnus stifled the sudden urge to scream for help.

"For example," his lord continued, seemingly oblivious to his struggle. "Did you know that there are seven different ways of parting a man from his skin?"

He let out an audible gulp.

"H-how interesting, my lord," he stuttered. Tom gave him a sinister smirk while eyeing him, making him feel like a piece of meat. His lord pressed right up to him with an inhuman grace, exceeding like a predator about to pounce on his prey.

"Interesting, indeed. Tell me, Lestrange, how high can you scream?"

That moment was probably the point where Tom Riddle ceased to exist, to be replaced by the terrifying Lord Voldemort. On his search for immortality, forest green eyes turned a deep crimson red. The Horcruxes split his mind and soul, turning him insane. The Wizarding World came to know his name, just as he had always wanted.

Just not the way he had envisioned.

However, in his twisted path of torture and evil, a small part of him never forgot Morgana Greene.

**Fifty years later**

Lord Voldemort sat on his throne in Riddle Manor, twirling his yew wand between pale, spindly fingers. Long hours hiding in the shadows had bleached the color from his skin, and coupled with insane scarlet eyes he made a very scary image indeed.

In front of him, kneeling at his feet, was a trembling Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort considered the blond with a detached, clinical eye, comparing him mentally to his deceased follower. He scowled at the weak quivering mass on the floor. Abraxas would never have showed such weakness. And this was one of his best Death Eaters?

Pathetic.

"So, Lucius," he spoke is a high, whittled tone, so different from his original baritone voice. "Any news from your son?"

Lucius Malfoy bowed his head lower. "Dumbledore's death has lowered morale in Hogwarts dramatically. Harry Potter and his friends seem to have disappeared from the school. Presumably, they are not coming back next year. As you planned, my lord, Severus has become the Headmaster of Hogwarts, although the students are uneasy and unsatisfied with this arrangement…"

He waved a dismissive hand, and Lucius fell silent immediately. "This is not _news_ to me, Lucius," hissed Voldemort. "I have heard all of this from Severus. I would not ask you if I already knew. Now, I asked you a question and I expect you to answer it."

Lucius gulped. What did his lord want from him?

"I'm sorry, my lord. I do not quite understand –"

"_Crucio_! I meant about Morgana Greene, you fool!" The blond man writhed in pain on the dirty stone floor, gasping for lungs of air as the curse raced through his system.

"I'm sorry, my lord," he panted out, at his hands and knees on the ground as he tried to recover. "There is no news about this person, Morgana Greene."

Privately, Lucius wondered who this person was. When he had been a teenager, eager for stories about the Dark Lord his father was serving, he had been told about the Dark Lord's younger years.

"He was brilliant, even as a teenager," Abraxas Malfoy had told the young Lucius. "He was top in all his classes, perfect in everything he did…"

"Like me?" asked a naïve Lucius. His father had glared at him, making the small blond boy cringe. "Never compare yourself to the Dark Lord," hissed Malfoy Senior. "He is far better than all of us, even that girl…"

"That girl?" questioned the young Lucius cautiously. He did not want to be scolded again. Fortunately for him, his father was lost in thought, too preoccupied to tell off his son again. "Morgana Greene," muttered Abraxas Malfoy. "Yes, I had almost forgotten about her… She was a Mudblood, the only one that the Dark Lord ever met without slaughtering."

"A Mudblood?" said Lucius, making a disgusted face, as expected of him. "Why would the Dark Lord ever associate with a worthless Mudblood?"

"I must confess, he never told us the reason," the elderly Malfoy said, his gray-streaked hair moving as he shook his head. "No doubt she had a secret talent she had to conceal from everyone. But I suspect – and do not ever tell _anyone_ about this – that the two may have been lovers."

"Lovers?" Lucius had choked. "The Dark Lord had a –"

"Not so loud, boy!" Abraxas Malfoy sighed at his young, clueless son. Perhaps he had been too soft on the boy riding a high horse. "I only suspect though, but it is very likely. Remember, although our Lord now is… less than reasonable when facing failure, back then he was at the peak of youth. He was sane and handsome and incredibly Slytherin. Many admired him back then."

Lucius had tried to imagine the Dark Lord, with his scary red eyes and fearsome temper, as a handsome and charismatic Hogwarts student, but the image seemed wrong. How could someone who used to be appealing and adored, turn into such a tyrannical monster?

"I agreed to serve him because of this very reason. Now he has changed, however, and I fear that the Death Eaters' original goal may become twisted by his insanity. Back then, he occasionally had fits of temper or sadism. No one could stop him but this Mudblood, Morgana Greene."

"What happened to this Greene girl then?" Lucius puzzled. "Surely, if she had stayed then the Dark Lord would be even greater than now?"

Abraxas reluctantly nodded his head. "Yes. Morgana Greene disappeared near the end of my seventh year. The Dark Lord, who had been teetering on the brink of insanity, snapped when she left. It was said that she had run away with another boy, one Sam Davies, but the Dark Lord refused to believe it."

As Lucius thought back to that scene twenty years ago while laying on the stone floor in wretched pain, he wished that the mysterious Mudblood would come back again, and save his Lord from destroying himself.

**Review! Only about 5 more chapters left...**


	36. Awakening

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own it.**

**Read on and enjoy. It's not over yet.**

_Where am I?_

She couldn't see anything. The pitch blackness around her meant that even when if she could open her eyes, she would still be as blind as a bat. Morgana shifted around, mind groggy. The last she remembered was…

Lestrange! That good-for-nothing, scheming scumbag had tried to kill her!

She attempted to sit upright and shake the sleepiness out of her limbs, but she couldn't move. There was a heavy weight on her chest, pressing down on her and keeping her from moving. Morgana couldn't even open her mouth, either. She could only poke the tip of her dry tongue out and taste the sweet, moist scent of dirt.

Was she buried? Had Lestrange tossed her in? Did he even know that she was immortal? He had slipped a potion down her throat that she recognized as the Draught of the Living Death. She would have slept forever, if not for the Deathly Hallows. Somehow, the magic in her system had fought off a lethal potion and ensured that she would live, despite being buried alive.

The whole situation reminded her of a twisted Muggle fairytale.

A sudden thought occurred to her. What happened to Tom? Did he come looking for her? Guilt crawled up her throat. Would he really look for her, if he knew that she had taken the ritual before him? Tom had always had a competitive streak in him, an ambition to be the best at everything. He was the sort of person that would rather cease to exist than cease to be perfect.

To be that close to achieving a historical feat, only to have the title of first swept out from under his feet because of her selfishness – the knowledge and the feeling of defeat would kill him.

But there were side effects to being immortal, Morgana reminded herself. When going down to find Tom, hadn't she been stumbling and hallucinating? She couldn't quite remember… Who had she been hallucinating about anyway?

The vague image of a friendly brunette and a sneering Slytherin entered her mind. Morgana racked her brains to place a name to the faces, but as hard as she tried nothing came up. The memory was blank. She couldn't remember anything about whatever she had hallucinated about. Was this the price of immortality?

Despite being unable to recall the two faces (something deep down told her that these people had been important to her and mourned the loss), she did remember coming across an obscure text in the library. It had chronicled a lunatic's spiral into madness.

The talented yet reserved wizard had began hallucinating and forgetting whatever he hallucinated about. It had only happened once, but the man had been so desperate to cling onto his memories he had gone mad. The author had concluded by reasoning that the apparent memory loss was to 'make room for additional magic', rationalizing that this was why so many brilliant wizards tended to be very eccentric.

Something of the sort must have happened to her, Morgana decided, but she refused to mourn the loss of people she did not know anymore. Instead, she focused on the main task at hand – getting out of this earthy grave.

Surprisingly, she could still breathe. Whether it was because of her recent immortality, or because of Lestrange's hurried funeral, the dirt around her was loose enough to have some air pockets. Morgana tried not to squirm any further, in case she knocked any soil down and ruined her (small) chances.

She clenched her fist. Lestrange couldn't have dug that deep a grave in the early morning. He wouldn't have had the time, so it couldn't be that hard to escape, could it? As she wiggled her fingers, she thought of Tom and a transparent air bubble encased her head. Hopefully, that would keep her breathing.

She took in a deep breath, tensed her leg muscles, and kicked.

The dirt around her exploded into showers of soil and dead leaves. The earth that had weighed so heavily on her collapsed and immediately began sinking around her limbs. Morgana tried to keep still, only shifting when the dirt started building up behind her, so that she would not sink any further down into the ground.

Finally, when the ground stopped shaking and the dirt stopped falling, she lifted her arms, clawing through the loose soil. Slowly, limb by limb, she pushed her way through the earth's layers. The moist soil sank below her, serving as a soft, cushiony platform for Morgana to climb above.

As she clambered up slowly, protected by her wandless Bubblehead charm, she found her energy slowly draining away. The wandless magic had taken a huge chunk out of her stamina, and climbing through the earth was not helping. Morgana could feel the magic dissipating from the Bubblehead charm. It wasn't going to last long, and she definitely didn't have enough strength to cast another one.

She quickened her pace, heart pounding faster and faster. Her movements became more frantic, her legs kicking wildly and arms flailing as she tried to reach the top faster. In her blindness, Morgana felt herself nearing the surface, the dirt around her become looser – and therefore, more dangerous. Soil slipped through her fingertips like liquid, and mud stuck to the bottom of her feet like concrete. Her task seemed more impossible by the second.

The last of her magic disappeared and her Bubblehead charm cancelled out with a small _pop_. Dirt rained down on her head and it felt like her head was being crushed by the pressure. Morgana gave up all control and began flailing around madly, desperate to escape from her earthy grave.

By some miracle, her hand scrabbled around and found air. She had reached the surface! Morgana stretched her arms out and grappled for a handhold, hauling herself out of the earth. She heaved her tired body onto flat land, panting and drawing in huge gulps of air. The hole in the ground where she had been buried slowly collapsed and buried itself under its own weight.

Morgana sat down on the mossy grass, exhausted. She looked around her and found herself in the middle of a small clearing. The sun was low on the horizon, its glowing rays slowly drawing back, and the trees around her soared above to touch the sky. Clearly, she was in the middle of a forest – and probably the Forbidden Forest, too, judging by the silhouette of a castle in the distance.

As the sun slowly set, she trudged through the forest, guided by the sight of Hogwarts. All sorts of forest critters hopped around her feet, and strange glowing plants popped up everywhere she went. It was like walking through a whole different world.

By the time she finally made it out of the forest, the stars were out and the moon bright overhead. Morgana's legs were aching from walking around so much. Once or twice, she had become lost in the forest, distracted by the foreign environment of the Forbidden Forest at night, and the journey had taken far longer than expected.

In the end, though, she decided the warm glow of Hogwarts greeting her now was worth it.

Morgana practically crawled into the castle, thinking quickly. She could not go into the Great Hall like this, but at this time of night most students would be at dinner. That meant Tom would probably be there as well, dining with the Slytherins. She wondered once more what he thought of her brief disappearance. He would be mad, no doubt about that, but he couldn't be that angry, surely?

After all, it could only have been a short amount of time before she woke up. A month, probably, with an average Draught of the Living Death. Six months, if Lestrange had brewed exceptionally well. A year, now _that_ was stretching it. Morgana shivered once at the thought of leaving Tom by himself for a year. He was still unstable after attempting to create a Horcrux, with a Binding Magical Contract being the only thing stopping him.

If she ever left him alone for more than six months, Tom would probably consider her gone and attempt to make another Horcrux. After all, Contracts became null and void after the Binder's death. Tom would most likely have tried to make a Horcrux (or several), but if he had… Morgana shuddered. Breaking a Contract invoked ancient magical laws. Depending on how many times he had broken the oath, his magic and sanity would be damaged greatly.

Hopefully, she would be able to see Tom once more and make sure he was okay. He couldn't have done that much in the span of several months, not with Dumbledore breathing down his neck all the time.

Morgana stumbled her way along the corridors of Hogwarts. She should go to the Ravenclaw Common Room first, to change and take a relaxing shower, before seeing everyone again. Oh, she couldn't wait to see the look of surprise on Lestrange's face when he realized his plan had failed spectacularly!

She climbed the winding staircase two steps at a time, spurred on by the image of a shocked, sniveling Cygnus Lestrange. However, she never got to reach the top. Instead Morgana ended up crashing into a blonde Ravenclaw whom she had never seen before.

"That's alright," the girl said dreamily, although Morgana had not said anything yet. "The Wrackspurts are particularly active tonight. See?" The Ravenclaw poked her forehead with a delicate finger, gaze far-off behind the over-sized, flowery glasses.

Startled, Morgana stumbled a bit and stared at the strange girl before her. "Oh, um, right," she said, bemused. "I haven't seen you around before. Are you new to Hogwarts?"

The seemingly quixotic girl smiled mysteriously. "I've been in Ravenclaw for six years, you know. But it's quite normal. No one ever notices me." Morgana reeled backwards in shock. The last six years? There was no way she could have missed such an interesting character before, despite what the girl had said about herself.

"Six years?" she stammered. "That's impossible…" Morgana trailed off, thinking furiously. Perhaps this girl was deluded, or mentally damaged? No, she would have heard of such a scandal before. Maybe she was dreaming? The world seemed too realistic to be a dream, though…

She arrived at the only possible conclusion and immediately went into denial. Her mind reasoned that this _was_ the only explanation, but her heart refused to admit it. There was no way things could have gone so wrong. No way.

Her mouth was moving before she knew it, and she couldn't control the words that slipped out. "What year is it?"

The dreamy Ravenclaw blinked at her slowly, magnified eyes reminding Morgana of an owl. "That's a peculiar question," said the blonde girl.

"Just answer it!" snapped Morgana.

"1998," answered the strange sixth-year, curious blue eyes peering up at her as she stumbled backwards in surprise and horror. How was this possible? How? How…

"Fifty years," she muttered. "Fifty years, oh dear Merlin…" Her insides seemed to freeze up and her thoughts ground to a halt. Something lodged itself in her throat. The previous images of triumph and victory melted away, replaced by cold dread. The shock she felt was equivalent to an atomic bomb imploding inside her head.

The Ravenclaw girl – born over 40 years after her – gave her a strange yet understanding look. "I think you have somewhere to go now," she said gently. Although such words would normally be offensive, the girl somehow phrased it in a kind, soothing way.

"Y-yes," stuttered Morgana, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to go down the staircase. "Excuse me, but I – I have –"

"Good luck," the blond Ravenclaw girl said sincerely, as she raced down through Hogwarts, heart pounding wildly.

_Tom_, she thought. _Tom, where's Tom? I need to find him_… Her hurried footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, as she skidded around corners, heading to the seventh floor. _Fifty years… I've been buried underground, sleeping for fifty years… How much of the world has changed?_

Indeed, when she looked around her once more, she caught small details that had slipped through before. A stone there that had a few more scratches than she remembered, a portrait that wasn't where she thought it should have been, a few more ink splatters along the floor… Oh yes, Hogwarts might have been around for centuries, but nothing lasted forever. The world would always change, whether Morgana Greene was there to see it or not.

Her thoughts returned to Tom once more. Tom, the one person in her life that had always stayed constant. They were more than just friends, no doubt about that, but not quite lovers. Two people with such twisted minds and hearts couldn't really be soft and sappy, but they could certainly get along – and that was enough for Morgana.

But with her gone, would it all have changed? A small chord of fear struck her heart. She didn't want to lose Tom. Fifty years had passed – how much would he have accomplished in that time? No doubt he had done something with his life in her absence. Whether that something was great or terrible or both, she did not know, but she knew that Tom would have at least tried to turn to the Dark Arts. At least her Contract held him from sinking into madness…

Realization dawned on her like a sudden bucket of ice water being poured over her head. If Tom thought that she was dead, he would have thought that the Contract was nullified. He would have made a Horcrux, but instead of losing his soul he would have lost his sanity. Of course, the pain of losing one's mind was like the pain of losing one's soul, she supposed.

Was it possible that Tom had mistaken making a Horcrux and breaking a Binding Magical Contract? If so, then he would have continued to make more and more useless Horcruxes, all the while slowly going insane…

Her throat dried up. Tom might be half-dead by now. He might think he was immortal, but he could be murdered at any time – and on top of that, he was probably insane.

A hasty plan formulated in Morgana's mind. Binding Magical Contracts could not be undone or terminated by anything but death, and she didn't feel like killing herself any time soon. Instead, she turned to the one solution that broke every rule in guidebook of magic.

The Deathly Hallows.

If she could somehow perform the ritual on Tom again, she could save him. Just as the Hallows had healed her scar, they might be able to heal Tom's fractured soul. Finding the Hallows, though, now that would be the real task at hand. Morgana thought back to fifty years ago. She had left the Invisibility Cloak in the Room of Requirement, but she had taken the ring to go find Tom. And as for the Elder Wand… anyone who picked it up would have become the new owner.

As impossible as the task seemed, Morgana gritted her teeth and resolved that she would save Tom. Every time she had been in trouble, Tom had protected her. She recalled a blurry image of being trapped in her dorm, a high voice cackling over her (a girl's voice, by the sound of it); of being drunk and staggering up to her room, with his arms around her and his scent soothing her…

She reached the seventh floor and paced furiously. The door appeared and she flung it open. Yes, collecting the Deathly Hallows a _second_ time would be painful, but it would be worth it for Tom.

**And the last arc is coming near an end! Tell me what you think.**


	37. Hallow Hunting

**Disclaimer: It's not mine.**

**Thank you all so much for all the positive reviews! Enjoy this chapter, and sorry if it's a bit short.**

As she sorted through the piles of junk, Morgana pondered on being the Master of Death.

She didn't _feel_ very different (except for the physical changes to her body). Her magic didn't feel odd or strange – slightly stronger, perhaps, but still the same familiar surge of power whenever she used her wand – and, if souls had a solid form, hers wouldn't have changed much. She was still the same Morgana Greene from 50 years ago.

The one thing that was unfamiliar and new to her was the strange feeling in her gut, tugging and drawing her to a pile of junk in the middle of the Room. The Room of Requirement Morgana was in now was very different from what she was used to. Instead of cozy couches and shelves lined with books, it was now filled with mountains of trash.

Everything Hogwarts didn't need or didn't want was in here. Countless scratched books and snapped quills lay strewn about the floor, and various broken objects were heaped upon each other. Perhaps, once upon a time, the Room had been a small room for discarded, useless school equipment that had lived past its expiration date. But over the years, the piles of clutter had clearly built up until the trash mountains touched the ceiling. It almost looked as though the pillars of rubbish were supporting the roof, instead of the other way round.

Morgana gave in to her curiosity and followed her instincts. The pull became stronger and stronger as she approached the tower of bric-a-brac, tugging at her mind and heart. The mound of junk loomed over her, seeming impossibly high, but when she looked up, her gut told her that whatever was drawing her was at the very top of the mountain.

Red eyes gleamed with a hint of blue as she caught a shimmer of silver. There! At the tip of the junk pile was a familiar, shiny piece of fabric. It glimmered in the darkness and seemed far dirtier than she remembered, but the way the light moved around it was unmistakable.

She stretched out her hand, testing out her magic. Being the Master of Death had given her a big advantage on finding the Deathly Hallows – how else could she explain the inexplicable pull towards the Invisibility Cloak? However, surely such a coveted title could give her another power.

A tingle of magic rippled through her arm, and in the blink of an eye the Invisibility Cloak flew into her open hand. The smooth fabric settled against her skin and Morgana smiled at her success. A warm hum of power echoed from the Cloak as she stashed it away.

Morgana walked out of the Room of Requirement, fully satisfied and a smug smirk on her face. Compared to the three months it had taken them the first time round, it had only taken her an hour to get the Invisibility Cloak this time.

The mental image of a pouting Tom sent her into fits of laughter.

* * *

She hurried through the corridors. The pulling feeling in her gut had reappeared, but now it was drawing her to the opposite side of the castle. Morgana walked, fast-paced, up the Grand Staircase and along the winding hallways. Usually, it would only take her a few minutes to get to the Northern side of Hogwarts, but as it was the journey took half an hour.

Throughout her trip, Morgana was constantly ducking behind tapestries and hiding behind alcoves. Students of all shapes and sizes hurried through Hogwarts, oblivious to the shadowy figure wandering the castle. Morgana knew that, if too many people saw her unfamiliar face, questions would be raised. Although no student would recognize her (except perhaps the strange blonde from earlier), ghosts and professors might.

But even though she didn't belong at Hogwarts anymore, it didn't take a genius to realize that something was wrong.

There seemed to be a permanent dark cloud hanging over everyone's heads. Faces were drawn or frowning or just sad. She watched in shock as an elderly Professor Slughorn waddled through the halls, with streaks of silver in his hair and extra wrinkles on his normally jovial expression. A first year stumbled miserably on a paved stone, books flying everywhere, but was ignored by the equally miserable crowd.

Everyone just seemed so _hopeless_.

Morgana bit her lip at the sad scene. Hogwarts had been a place of excitement and happiness for her, full of laughter and wonder. It had been the scene of some of her best moments and favorite memories. To see the magical castle reduced to such a depressed state…

She squared her shoulders and continued determinedly. Maybe it was too late for her to save Hogwarts, but at least she could try to save Tom.

Morgana's feet carried her through the North Tower and up a flight of stairs, the pull growing ever stronger as she went on. Eventually, she found herself at a familiar door guarded by a huge, ugly, stone gargoyle. Her mind told her that entering the Headmaster's office would be incredibly rash and foolish – incredibly Gryffindor – but her gut refused to budge.

Internally, she sighed. Just her luck that the Deathly Hallows were in the Headmaster's Office. Somehow, Morgana doubted that old Dippet was still in charge. Perhaps it was Dumbledore? _But he hates – hated Tom…_

At that moment, as if it had been listening to her internal debate, the gargoyle hopped aside and the door slid open. Morgana immediately ducked into an alcove and lifted the Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders. She watched, hardly breathing, as the heavy _thumps_ of footsteps neared.

"Foolish!" An irritated, clearly male voice growled out softly. She peeked out from her hiding place and saw a man with lank, greasy hair and a sweeping Potions cloak. Morgana frowned. This was the current Headmaster of Hogwarts? The hooked-nose man looked as if he belonged in a Potions brewery rather than a school office.

"Shouldn't have summoned the Dark Lord… Idiots…" Obsidian black eyes narrowed in anger as the hassled looking man strode down the hallway. Thankfully, he didn't hear her tiny gasp from behind the pillar.

Dark Lord? Morgana's heart had jumped erratically when the man had mentioned a Dark Lord. Her mind had automatically summoned an image of a leering blond man and intense fear had surged through her veins. But although she could remember the man's features in great detail, she couldn't place a name to the face.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that this man was incredibly important to her. But, just like that familiar yet unfamiliar memory of the brunette, Morgana had forgotten all about Grindelwald and his cruel sneer and how he had slaughtered thousands. Instead, all she recalled was a distant loathing for the strange fellow with the foreign smirk.

However, despite forgetting the details of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, she had not forgotten Tom's deep-rooted, Slytherin ambition. If there was a Dark Lord roaming the Wizarding World who _also_ happened to have followers in Hogwarts… that was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

Morgana swallowed the lump in her throat. No, she couldn't dwell on such worrying thoughts. It didn't matter what Tom was now, as long as he could be brought back to his sane self.

As soon as the greasy-haired Headmaster turned the corner, she dashed out of the alcove and squeezed through the closing door. Morgana barely made it into the small chamber before the stone entrance slammed shut and the gargoyle leapt back into place. The golden staircase in front of her began to spiral slowly, and near the top of the staircase she could make out the figure of a phoenix emblazoned on the door.

Not waiting for the slowly spiraling stairs, Morgana ran up the staircase two steps at a time. She reached the door, jiggled the knob, realized it was locked, and blasted it open with her new, overpowered magic. The image of the strange man had inspired an inexplicable explosion of fear in her, and now her feelings of panic were suddenly renewed.

Morgana burst into the Headmaster's Office, magic swirling around her wildly, fueled by irrational panic. The pulling feeling intensified and grew so much that she felt like a fish who'd bitten down on a hook with too much force.

However, something was still off.

This time, it was tugging her in two different directions, almost as if her magic was confused. One moment she was drawn to the chest of drawers in the corner; the next she found herself heading towards a small jewelry box on the desk.

Portraits of previous Headmasters lining the walls cried out in protest as she began ransacking the office. Morgana couldn't tell where to go, or which was the right direction to go. It wasn't like she could choose, anyway. The Deathly Hallows was controlling her now, pulling her in different directions like a rag puppet. She would near one of the objects, then suddenly get drawn away in the opposite direction.

It was like a never-ending game of hide and seek.

Finally, after too long of walking between the two objects, Morgana got close enough to yank open the chest of drawers and grab the thing inside. Her hands closed around a long, wooden, smooth stick. A soothing buzz of power hummed through her veins, emanating from the wand as it recognized its true owner, who had never really died or been defeated at all.

Morgana smiled. The Elder Wand was hers now.

The magical pull towards the Deathly Hallows stopped briefly as she touched the Wand, before focusing all of its power in the direction of the small black box. She pushed down the overwhelming urge to gasp as she felt her magic attach itself to the object inside the box. She knew what it was, of course – the Resurrection Stone.

However, when she opened the tiny container (after blasting it with an overpowered _Alohomora_), Morgana was surprised to find that the ring holding the Stone was blackened. The Stone was still attached to the Gaunt ring, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows still engraved into the onyx gem, but the golden band was smudged and dark. It looked almost as if the ring had been burnt.

To add to that oddity, there was a strange allure to the ring that almost dared her to touch it. It was like the pull of the Deathly Hallows for the Master of Death, except this enticing magic felt _wrong_. It wrapped its dark, spiky thorns around her and tried to pull her in, bewitching her mind to just touch it.

She frowned. This wasn't normal.

Morgana tapped the ring cautiously with the Elder Wand. A loud hiss and a cloud of smoke filled the air, and she jumped back hastily. Someone had cursed the ring. She swore. Whoever had placed the curse on one of the Deathly Hallows must have been an idiot, even if that person had been unaware of the ring's true properties.

Lucky she had the most powerful wand in the world.

She smirked wickedly as she waved the Elder Wand around and undid the powerful Parseltongue curse. Yes, the spell took a lot of time, drained quite a lot of power, and probably wasn't possible for a normal wizard to accomplish. Eventually, though, the curse was shattered, and a triumphant Morgana plucked the ring out of its box.

There was no sudden shock of poison or any surge of Dark magic exploding in her body. The ring was safe, and it fit snugly on her middle finger. A quiet hum of power poured from the third and final Deathly Hallow.

Morgana basked in the powerful magic swirling around her for a moment, glorying in the throbbing beat of energy. But the peaceful sensation didn't last very long.

BANG!

She whirled around, just in time to witness a bright green light whizz past the window. The spell exploded in the air, spelling out a blurry yet fear-inspiring symbol. A green smoky skull with a serpent snaking out of its mouth hovered over the castle. Morgana rushed over and peered outside. She knew that it was dangerous, but she had to see what this strange commotion was.

Below her, she could hear screaming and startled shouting. A few terrified students were fleeing the castle or ducking under any possible cover. To her surprise, she saw an aged Minerva McGonagall casting defensive spells fiercely. Jets of light darted across the grounds and fires exploded into action, savagely destroying anything in its path. Several bodies lay motionless in the grass. Morgana felt pity for the students sobbing over their dead friends, but she dared not use the Deathly Hallows on a stranger.

At that moment, she truly understood what being the Master of Death meant. She could bring people back to life, yes, but she couldn't save everyone. Although she _literally_ had control over life and death, every soul that was lost weighed on her conscience. Every time someone died, she would be indirectly responsible.

Tom probably wouldn't mind it, but for her, the guilt was a heavy burden on her shoulders.

A scream shook Morgana from her thoughts, and she ran towards the door. She had seen enough. Almost tripping over the steps in her haste, she rushed down the staircase and back through the halls of Hogwarts, until she reached the Great Hall.

There, she saw even more destruction and chaos. Bodies lay piled on each other as hexes and jinxes flew over her head. The stone pillars were cracked and the large stained windows were smashed, jagged glass shards discarded on the floor. Students and professors alike stood side by side, dueling with all their might. On the opposite side of the hall were wizards draped in black robes and bone-white masks. These wizards were clearly using Dark spells and cast with a ruthless efficiency that rivaled the Professors' experience.

Instinctively, she stepped in to start defending her home, Hogwarts. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered where the old Morgana Greene had gone. Eleven years ago, she would have ignored the innocent students battling for their lives. Now, here she was, her first instinct being to protect and defend. What had happened?

Morgana knew the moment the question arrived. Tom had happened. She had never had such a good friend before, a person who she could relate to so well, someone who she could lean on and who could lean on her. Tom had changed her and she had changed him.

She swallowed the wave of nostalgia. Fifty years ago. Had it really been that long ago since she had seen Tom? When would she see him again?

An wave of murmuring echoed through the hall, and wands were lowered as everyone turned to face the intimidating figure striding into the castle. Morgana suppressed a startled gasp.

Speak of the devil.

**Tell me what you think! One more chapter left till the end. Do you think that I should add an epilogue?**


	38. Forever Mine

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, I own not.**

**Woohoo! This is officially the last chapter of 'Met His Match'. I hope you enjoyed the ride! **

**UPDATED NOTE: There's also a new story up on my profile. Check it out!**

The man standing before her could not be Tom. She refused to believe it.

What had once been dark, thick hair and strong, handsome features was now completely unrecognizable. Brilliant red eyes, glowing like a ruby, were set into paper-white pale face. Instead of nostrils there were two small slits, almost like a snake's. The terrifying figure who called himself a Dark Lord was draped in black robes, heavy enough to be austere yet light enough for a duel. Beside him, an enormous snake bared its fangs and hissed.

_Kill them, Massster. I want blood. I need blood._

The Dark Lord replied casually. _Of coursse, Nagini. Ssimply wait a while longer._

Morgana froze as she recognized the hissed words. There was no doubt in her mind any longer that the horrible, misshapen Dark Lord in front of her was Tom Riddle. Only he could speak Parseltongue as the _true_ heir of Slytherin. However, the thing that scared her the most was not the fact that the Dark Lord could speak Parseltongue.

It was her familiarity with the great serpent's voice. Although it was distorted with bloodlust and insanity, she could still hear a hint of its previous, sassy yet lovable self.

_Ada_.

How had such a beautiful and loyal familiar turned into this… this monster? Green scales glittered in the dim light and Morgana could see a faint black sheen covering Ada's body. It gave off an aura of power and seduction, but something was clearly wrong with it. She repressed a shudder. Dark magic took a far greater toll on familiars than on humans.

Tom must have found Ada one day and used Dark magic on her, not recognizing her as Morgana's familiar. He had changed her delightful companion and claimed her as his own. Morgana looked at Ada/Nagini's magically enhanced body sorrowfully. She could almost feel the Dark magic leeching onto the scales and sucking the life slowly out of the snake.

The Dark Lord stood outside the Great Hall in the center of the Courtyard. The cold winter air, combined with the overpowering Darkness, sucked all the happiness out of the horrified spectators. Surrounding them was a massive army of Death Eaters, cheering triumphantly.

A broken cry sounded from the crowd, echoed by the growing murmuring of the crowd. Morgana craned her neck to see what was drawing most of Hogwarts' attention. Behind Tom was a large man, massive in both height and girth. His grizzly face, reminding her of a bear, was tearstained and crinkled with sorrow and loss. With an unwelcome jolt, she realized that it was Rubeus Hagrid, the bumbling second year Tom had framed fifty years ago.

Lying in his massive arms was a raven-haired boy with round spectacles and a skinny frame. His eyes were closed and his chest was not moving. Crimson liquid streamed down the side of his face, flowing from a curious lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

She couldn't see clearly through the crowd, but it seemed as though someone had broken free of the crowd and was now by the boy's side. Screams and mournful cries filled the air. Tom smiled wickedly, lips stretching unnaturally and eyes narrowed scornfully.

"The Boy-Who-Lived is dead!" he called. Hoots of triumph sounded from the Death Eaters. Morgana saw a brunette fall to her feet and bury her head in her hands at the boy's death. With another unwelcome shock, she realized that the elderly Minerva McGonagall was near tears as well. This must have been the first time she had ever seen the strong Gryffindor break down.

Inside, she felt like breaking down as well. First, she had lost Tom. Then she had lost her own time. After that her home had been taken over by gloominess. Next, she had lost her familiar. Now these people had to lose their clearly beloved friend too?

Something in her snapped.

Rage poured out of her like lava out of a volcano. Sadness was overwhelmed by her anger and desire for revenge. Before she knew it, her wand was in her hand and an inhuman shout ripped out of her. A bright blue curse shot out of the tip of her wand, dazzling her eyes. Morgana did not know what the incantation was – she didn't even know what spell it was – but the Elder Wand seemed to sense her need for revenge. It hummed happily in her fist, encouraging the anger and the emotion in her.

The curse flew across the hall and struck a horde of Death Eaters. It exploded violently, knocking an unfortunate minion to the ground. Blood pooled around his slumped body and she could see tiny magical sparks bouncing off his skin. The rest of Death Eaters were blown backwards by the magical force of the spell and the crowd scattered in all directions.

Morgana chanced a glance at Tom. His serpentine features were masked with displeasure, and although he looked angry he did not seem very worried for his fallen followers. Her throat went dry. What sort of sadistic villain had Tom become to totally forsake his own servants?

As if he had read her mind, his head turned towards her. Their eyes met for a moment, red against red, and a flash of recognition passed between them. It was only a brief exchange of glances, but it was enough. Narrowed eyes widened in shock and thin lips parted in a surprised O shape. To her confusion, an expression of pain and sorrow crossed Tom's distorted features. He mouthed her name so softly that she wouldn't have caught it if she hadn't been looking right at him.

_Morgana_.

She didn't speak, but she felt her forehead crease into lines of sadness and worry. Slowly yet curtly, Morgana shook her head. Confusion, anger and sorrow bloomed on Tom's face and she ducked her head. She didn't want to see Tom so weak and vulnerable. It broke her heart.

Jets of light whizzed across her vision. Startled, Morgana realized that the battle had already begun. Shouted spells and sneaky curses were fired, each side battling equally fiercely. Dozens of wizards and witches fell as each second passed, turning the once peaceful school courtyard into a bloodied battlefield.

Silently, she wove her way through the fighting crowd. She did not fire any spells but kept her wand securely in her grasp, only raising the occasional shield when a stray spell came too close. Although the feeling of leaving people to die prodded her conscience, she didn't want to get involved in a battle she knew nothing about. Fighting for a cause that she didn't believe in was not something Morgana wanted to do.

Besides, she reasoned, these people weren't exactly innocent. They chose to fight; they chose to die.

The harsh screams of battle faded away from her as she headed down the gentle mountain slope. Blades of grass glistened in the dim light as rain began pouring down from the skies. The raindrops were heavy and came down in torrents, soaking Morgana in a matter of seconds. The grey skies and black clouds matched her mood.

Suddenly, before she could take another step forwards, a bright blue barrier sprung up in front of her. There was no time to react and a hand with an iron grip caught her arm. Morgana spun around, but she only needed a glimpse of pale, abnormally long fingers to know who it was.

She swallowed harshly and looked up into crimson eyes. "Tom."

"Where have you been?" His voice was rough, torn with suppressed emotion. She stayed silent. How to explain? "It's a long story…"

"Fifty years, Morgana," snapped Tom, voice cracking. "Fifty _damn_ years without a sound or a sign. I thought you were dead."

She recoiled from the anger and injustice in his fierce gaze. She hated to admit it, but she was _scared_. The grip on her arm tightened, sending a wave of pain and pleasure up her arm. Dark magic seemed to course into her veins, ravaging her system, hungry to touch her, eager to _devour_ her –

"Tom," she gasped. "Stop – stop it –"

He abruptly let go as he suddenly realized what he was doing. "Sorry," he murmured, and took out his wand. She instinctively drew back. "I'm not going to hurt you," said Tom soothingly. He waved his wand in a complex pattern and the pain in her arm disappeared. "See?"

Morgana frowned internally. This whole conversation was _wrong_. Had their relationship changed so much in those fifty years while she was gone? How had their friendly banter and camaraderie been reduced to these stiff, suspicious gestures?

The rain continued pouring down on them. Strangely, Morgana expected Tom to raise an Impervius Charm or at least transfigure a shelter. She recalled him hating getting wet or muddy; but now he simply stared at her, drinking her in as the heavy droplets soaked his cloak.

She shifted. "What is it, Tom?" she asked. His staring was becoming disturbing and there was a gleam in those red eyes that made her hair stand up on end.

"You're not leaving, are you?" he asked suddenly. The question was so abrupt that she automatically answered. "Of course not, Tom. Why would I leave you again?"

He licked his lips – a sign of nervousness or insanity? "Lestrange said you'd left me for some other man. Davies, I recall," he told her. Morgana scowled. "Lestrange is – was – a liar. Do I look like that sort of person to you?"

"No," muttered Tom to himself, in a strange voice. "No, you wouldn't leave me for that and you won't ever leave me for anything. Ever. You're mine. Mine, mine, mine. You'll never leave my side, Morgana, right?"

"I won't leave again, but I'm not anybody's," she replied curtly. Freedom was something most people dismissed as the result a radical's mad ravings, but that was only because they had never felt the loss of it themselves. It was too valuable to give up, even for Tom.

"You're _mine_," hissed Tom violently. "Mine, is that understood? You'll never stray from my side, because Morgana Greene is _mine_. My magic, my Morgana…" His spidery fingers shot out and tried to grab her. His magic whirled around him, screaming.

She took a startled step backwards, pulling away from his demanding grasp in the nick of time. This wasn't Tom. This was Voldemort.

Dark magic, corrupted yet tempting, howled at her. Spurred on by Tom's yearning, it darted towards her, extending its tendrils and trying to wrap them around her magic. Morgana fought back a scream as her magic wound itself protectively around her. She started running.

"Morgana…" Tom's voice called from behind her, calm once more. She ignored it and kept her pace steady. There was a small part of Tom's mind that contained his original charismatic self, but the rest had been tainted by the darkest of magic. Yes, his magic was naturally aligned towards the dark, but everybody had their limits. If you stretched over those magical boundaries, your magic would ravage itself. Tom had clearly overestimated his own abilities.

She needed to bring the old Tom back. Normally, it would be impossible to salvage a damaged soul – but with the power of the Deathly Hallows…

Morgana could hear a _whoosh_ing noise behind her. Glancing backwards, she saw a dark figure flying towards her, cloak flapping out like a bat. Tom was giving chase by air, and at this rate he would definitely catch her…

She clambered up the hill, feet slipping and sliding in the wet mud. At the peak, she saw a dark shadow flit over her shoulder. Tom was gaining speed in the sky, despite the heavy rain. Morgana panted and willed her legs to go faster, even though her muscles were already aching.

In the distance, nearing her, were bright flashes of multicolored lights and the distinct sound of war cries. Morgana hesitated for a brief moment, slowing down. Was it the right decision, to run straight into a battle field to escape Tom? Her mind laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Since when had she and Tom been enemies? Why did she have to run from _him_, of all people?

But then, when she was about to turn away and halt her running, she felt the faintest pulse of Dark magic from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a glimpse of glowing red eyes filled with desire, caught up in the hunt of the prey.

Morgana turned back and kept running.

Right into the heart of the battle, where everyone was crowded, was where Morgana headed to. Tom followed, and before she knew it, it was as if the two had never left the fight. Curses and hexes flew, both light and dark. Duelers skidded around, rolling and dodging. Screams and shouts filled the air. Red blots were splattered across the green lawns of Hogwarts.

Morgana tried to keep out of the way most of the time, only firing off a curse or two when needed. She felt weak, having to hide and dodge instead of standing her ground; but if she stood out from the crowd Tom – Voldemort - would definitely find her. In the corner of her eye, she saw the body of the dark-haired boy stir. Frowning, she edged closer. Wasn't he dead…?

Suddenly, time seemed to freeze. The teenage boy picked himself up, wand in hand, glasses framing determined emerald eyes. Everyone around him either cried out in shock or backed away in dawning horror. She couldn't hear him, but she saw his mouth open and speak quietly.

Tom appeared out of nowhere, bone-white yew wand grasped tightly, snarling menacingly. The strange pair seemed to exchange words. With each mouthed remark, the witches and wizards around them spread out into a large circle, giving them a wide berth. Morgana shuffled forwards, trying to get a better view, but the dense crowd refused to let her move.

After what seemed like hours, the two raised their wands. Morgana was expecting a fierce duel, or at least a battle, but they barely moved. In fact, the raven-haired boy with the brilliant green eyes seemed (disturbingly) calm. His face was full of acceptance and although he looked as if he had been through a lot, his eyes held no resentment. Only sadness and pity.

In a way, she admired that.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Green met red, two equally powerful spells colliding in a flash of blinding light. At first, Tom seemed to be winning, his Dark magic egging on the green Killing Curse. However, to her shock, the boy's Disarming spell fought back with equal intensity. Red glowed fiercely and started to overwhelm the green.

This was a true testament to how far Tom's magic had fallen, thought Morgana. The Tom she knew from fifty years ago would never have been by a simple Expelliarmus. The Dark magic had truly eroded his soul and corrupted his once powerful magic.

A plan began to form in her mind.

She watched, nonplussed, as the body of the Dark Lord fell to the ground. Cheers rang in the air as the raven-haired boy stood up, victorious. He looked relieved as the crowd rushed to swarm him.

Morgana slunk away, quietly. She found a hidden clearing behind a thick stone pillar of the courtyard and carefully took out the Invisibility Cloak. She would have used it earlier, but she had no idea what effect a Dark curse would have on the Cloak. It had been too risky to use it in battle, but now…

She draped the shimmery material over her shoulders and crept back out into the middle of the battlefield. By now, everyone had left to mourn and celebrate. Only a few Death Eater stragglers remained and the Ministry of Magic was currently rounding them up.

Creeping over to the body, Morgana knelt down. Tom's eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the gray sky. His body was already beginning to fade away – a side effect of Dark magic overuse. Placing a trembling hand on his chest, she could sense no heartbeat. Would the Hallows work on a very recently dead body?

Working quickly, she yanked the Resurrection Stone out. Sweeping the Invisibility Cloak off of her shoulders, Morgana covered his rapidly decomposing body. In that moment, the image of a bodiless Tom staring unseeing was seared into her mind. She didn't know it now, but it would stay there until her dying day, haunting her in her nightmares.

Placing the stone directly above his heart, Morgana could feel her palms beginning to sweat. Would this work? Could the Deathly Hallows bring back someone from the dead? If it didn't work, what would she do? The nervousness swelled up in a wave of panic, threatening to overwhelm her. She felt slightly sick, but pushed the agitation down. There was no time to worry – Tom's life was at stake.

She balanced the Elder Wand carefully on the Stone. The inscribed runes reflected in the shiny black crystal, lining up in a perfect replica of the Deathly Hallows symbol. Power throbbed through the objects, swamping her magical sense, the pulse matching her frantic heartbeat. Morgana raised a shaking hand and grasped the Elder Wand, not moving it from its position. She felt an odd sense of déjà vu.

"Avada Kedavra."

Blinding light flashed, forcing Morgana to cover her eyes. She heard a strange whirring sound, not mechanical but not natural either. Her curiosity urged her to take a peek, but the white light shining through the tiny cracks between her fingers suggested otherwise.

She waited desperately for what seemed like days. Finally, the glowing light ebbed away, fading. Morgana immediately pulled her hand away from her eyes, scanning over Tom's body once more. What she saw both surprised her and relieved her.

Instead of the magically corrupted, unhealthily pale body from a few minutes ago, Tom's rejuvenated form was lying on the ground. There were no more Dark magic tendrils drifting around in his aura, and he looked exactly as he did from fifty years ago. For Morgana, it was a sight for sore eyes.

She swiftly packed the Deathly Hallows away and edged closer to Tom. She bent over his form, peering at him, and laid a gentle hand above his heart. A steady, strong pulse resonated against her palm. Morgana smiled, relieved. A strange urge to cry in happiness welled up in her, and she felt a droplet roll down her smiling face.

Below her, Tom stirred. Deep green eyes, faintly tinged with red, fluttered open.

"Morgana?"

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited/read this story:**

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**And... I'll probably do an epilogue and rewrite some bad parts, so check in once in a while. The story might have changed a bit.**

Check out my new story, In Love and War, on my profile!


	39. Epilogue

**Thanks for sticking with this story! This is the final chapter. I hope the epilogue satisfies you all.**

_An excerpt from _The Battle of Hogwarts: Aftermath_, written by modern Wizarding historical expert, Robert Boot._

After the Battle of Hogwarts, where the former Dark Lord was defeated at the hand of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the magical world underwent a massive transformation.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was almost completely destroyed by the war. "The towers had been knocked to the ground and the main buildings had been reduced to rubble," recalls former Hogwarts professor Pomona Sprout. "There were corpses everywhere. I still have nightmares about all the people who died."

The old Ministry of Magic Headquarters had also been heavily damaged. Many staff and visitors were crushed under the rubble when the building collapsed, notable people including then-Minister Rufus Scrimogeour, former Minister Cornelius Fudge, former Headmistress Dolores Umbridge, and many others.

Hogsmeade, a Wizarding village near Hogwarts Castle, was ruined the most. Prior to the Battle of Hogwarts, followers of the former Dark Lord Voldemort had ravaged the area. The small army of Death Eaters planned to set up an outpost at Hogsmeade Village, in preparation for a second attack on Hogwarts. However, they were only there for an hour before they all mysteriously disappeared.

"It was the strangest thing," says Madam Rosmerta, owner of a popular pub in the village. "I was terrified when they stormed in, but after a short while they all seemed to panic. They were grabbing their arms in surprise and suddenly, they all disappeared! I thought they had Apparated, but there was no popping noise and the Death Eaters all cried out in pain before they disappeared. Everyone was in shock and amazement. It's nothing short of a miracle that no one was harmed."

The disappearance of Death Eaters at Hogsmeade coincide with the disappearance of Death Eaters at Hogwarts. No one has ever seen these Death Eaters again and all are presumed dead or missing. Many theories have been shared about these strange disappearances. Some say that it was Voldemort punishing the Death Eaters from beyond the grave, others say that it was an elaborate scheme by the Death Eaters to escape persecution, although none of these theories have ever been confirmed.

However, all of these theories stem from the fact that a pair of mysterious figures were sighted near all these disappearances. Witnesses describe the figures as 'a young boy, handsome, in his late teens', who was accompanied by a 'teenaged girl with dark hair and bright blue eyes'. Many have likened these strange figures to vampires, because of their notably pale skin and incredibly fast speed. Despite this, the vampire Coven has denied all allegations.

* * *

_An excerpt from _Wizarding Politicians_ describing notable politician Tom Riddle._

Tom Riddle, known as one of the most powerful and influential politicians of this era, was the figurehead of the Magical Revolution and transformed the Wizarding world into the one we live in today. He is famous for being one of the youngest politicians to ever serve as the head of British Wizardkind, although his exact age remains yet to be disclosed.

His notable achievements are many and varied. After the Second Wizarding War, he founded a party alongside his partner Morgana Greene. This party aimed to 'improve the Wizarding World', 'enhance the security of witches and wizards' and 'abolish discrimination against types of magic'. It was quickly popularized by the two founder's campaigns and over half of the population supported them.

After the party was voted into office, Tom Riddle became co-Minister. He and his party quickly overturned many policies that were outdated and replaced them with new ones. Stricter regulations controlled the ties between Muggles and Wizards and new measures were taken to properly inform Muggleborns of the Wizarding culture. These measures, although initially opposed by celebrities Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, gradually improved society, leading to less magical accidents and decreased crime rates.

Laws on Dark Magic were also overruled and regulations became looser. Traditional rituals, such as Samhain, were deemed legal again, and practice of Dark magic was allowed under supervision. These laws were also opposed by Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, but they were passed under the agreement that magic that resulted in death would still be punished. As a result, Dark Magic and Light Magic now co-exist peacefully in the Wizarding World.

* * *

_An excerpt from _Wizarding Politicians _describing notable politician Morgana Greene._

Alongside her partner, Morgana Greene is one of the youngest politicians to ever serve as Head of British Wizardkind. Her age is also undisclosed and she is most famous as the first female co-Minister in history. She served as a political figurehead for the Magical Revolution and founded many influential companies and institutions.

She is famous for her spell work and was responsible for repairing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with help from the Co-Minister. She shares the seat of power with her partner (and rumored lover) Tom Riddle and has passed many laws concerning the welfare of the magical population and relations with other magical species. As a result of her diplomatic visits to vampire Covens, werewolf groups and goblin embassies, ties with other species have improved. The magical economy is now booming and discrimination against magical creatures has lessened.

Morgana Greene also played a minor role in the First Wizarding War, having met Grindelwald in person. She is known as a Dark witch and supports the use of both Dark magic and Light magic, although she disapproves of injuring others through magic.

* * *

_An interview excerpt from_ Witch Weekly_._

Hello, readers of Witch Weekly! As we all know, Tom Riddle and Morgana Greene, the co-Ministers of our great country, have long been rumored to be a couple. Today, in this exclusive interview, we talk to the pair about their relationship and their future aspirations.

INTERVIEWER: Thank you for coming, co-Minister Riddle and Greene!

T.M.R: The pleasure is all ours. Thank you for inviting us.

INT: Now, you two are the first co-Ministers in the history. Why did you do such a thing?

M.G: Well, we've been partners for a very long time. We work together very well and by having two Ministers we can balance out responsibilities.

INT: Of course, of course. How about on the relationship side of things? What are you two in terms of personal relations?

T.M.R: As Morgana said, we make a great team –

INT: Are you two a couple? Have you ever kissed each other?

M.G (blushing): Perhaps. However, it is not relevant –

INT: Wonderful! And there we have it, readers, the most powerful couple of this era! Both amazing spell casters, the perfect team, incredible looks and charisma – what more could you need?

Note: The interview ended very shortly after that. However, the voters for Riddle and Greene's party increased by over 5% after this interview.

**Thank you all so much! I may or may not write a few one-shots based on this, but right now I have a new fanfic up. It's called _In Love and War_ and features your favourite teenage Dark Lord in a high school romance AU. Check it out!**


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